SOUTH PARK: Myentology
by Tharpdevenport
Summary: It looks like Eric has turned a leaf in life and wants to help people. (All chapters now up!)
1. Chapter 1

Eric, Kenny, Kyle, and Stan play a video game in Eric's living room. Eric's mom walks in with the mail.

"Eric, honey, you got a letter in the mail."

Stan says sarcastically aloud to Eric while not losing focus of the game play, "Another self-addressed, self-written piece of fan mail, Cartman?"

Liane walks over next to Eric, who is sitting on the couch, "It says it's from the Lengthy Reading Hermitage."

"Cool!" he takes the letter.

"What's that?" Kyle asks with curiosity.

"A book publisher," Eric replies, unfolding the letter.

"No way," says Stan.

"What's it say?" Kyle asks.

"Dear Mr. Cartman, enclosed is a check for fifty dollars this month for your successful self-help book _Fartenetics_ , which is currently number two on Amazon in self-help book sales!"

"Oh, honey pookums, that's amazing. Congratulations," says Liane.

"Thanks, mom."

"I'm sorry – _you_ wrote a book? And somebody wanted to publish it? Reality is stranger than fiction," says Stan.

"Why didn't you tell us you wrote a book _and_ that it's been for sale a month now?" Kyle asks Eric.

"'cause … I didn't want you guys to make fun of me if it failed."

Kyle replies, "Cartman, I will never make fun of you if you're honest and try your legal best and legitimately fail. And that failure wasn't a pre-planned scheme. I know, a lot of qualifiers, but still."

"Really? Thanks, Kyle."

"Okay, I give – good work," says Stan.

"Way to go, dude!" Kenny pats Eric on the back.

"Hopefully this means you've turned over a new leaf in life," says Kyle.

"I have, Kyle. _Fartenetics_ made it possible."

"Ooohhh, okay, I see – you want us to buy a copy and everybody else in town, too, out of pity to raise sales and increase your profit," says Stan.

"Nope – I have free promo copies for all of you. And Butters."

"Well, I guess I mis-judged you, Cartman," says Stan.

Kyle speaks, "Sales are one thing though; results are another. Has anyone actually helped themselves with your self-help book other than yourself?"

"Good question, Kyle. I tested it on Butters a week ago when I gave him my copy early. And now he's all better."

"But Butters was sick," says Kyle.

"Not anymore," Eric responds.

.

The front door to the Stotch home opens to reveal Butters' dad.

"Yes?" he aks them.

"Is Butters home?" asks Kyle.

"Hold on a minute," he turns slightly and yells, " _Butters!_ Those friends of yours are here again!"

After several seconds, Butters comes running up to the door.

"Thanks, dad."

"Don't keep it long – you still have chores to make up for while you were sick," his dad says, leaving.

"Yes, sir."

"So it's true – you're no longer sick?" asks Stan.

"All better. I got the green bugars to prove it. Wanna see them?"

"No, that's okay," says Stan, waving his hands side-ti-side after barely raising them.

"How'd you do it? Did you go to the doctor or something?" asks Kyle.

"Eric gave me a book he wrote, called _Fartenetics_. Why, I read it and followed his advice and with a little help on his part, I was all better."

"Eric helped you?" Stan says with some disbelief.

"Yes."

"And didn't ask for anything in return?" Stan adds.

"no."

"I got to hand it to you, Eric, writing this book may be the best thing that ever happened to you," says Kyle.

"Thank you. But I'm not going to stop there – I intend to help more people," says Eric.

"That's great, Eric, but realistically you'll probably only sell a few hundred worldwide."

"That's right, Kyle. That's why I've done more than just write a book. Come on, guys – you gotta check this out…"

Eric turns around and they follow him; Butters closes the front door.

.

Eric stops and turns around to face Kenny, Kyle and Stan.

"Ta da!" he spreads his arms out.

In an empty field, the three of them look around to see some old and long-ago abandoned small wooden shacks, barn, an in-the-dumps boa in a small lake, and weeds all over the place.

Kyle speaks, "I'm not following you. How is this going to help people?"

"You are looking at the future home of a training center for Myentology."

"Myentology?" Kyle asks, uncertain of what Eric means.

"I realized that writing the book wouldn't be just enough. To really help others, I'd need a system and a place to train others to help those in need. And this ranch will help season the Myentologists. Hence forth this location will be known as Ranch Seasoning."

"Wait – how'd you afford this?" Stan asks.

"I used most of my book advance to purchase the land."

"I guess you have changed. The previous Eric Cartman would never have done this or this much. I guess your humanity was a late bloomer," says Stan.

"But it's just you," says Kyle.

"And Butters. He agreed to sign up a few days ago. And I already have my first Cretan coming over for help tomorrow."

"So, it's some kind of healing club?" asks Kyle.

"Kyle, Ranch Seasoning is more than a training ground, it's a step leading to the main organization of Myentology, where you can become full-fledged Myentologists."

"So, it's a sign-up drive?" Stan asks.

"Correct."

Stan then says, "I don't know. I mean, I've never really witnessed _Fartenetics_ work. I'm a little skeptical."

"Perfectly understandable, Stan. Come by tomorrow at noon to witness a miracle."

"Cool," says Kyle.

"Why don't you all read a copy of _Fartenetics_ tonight. I had it delivered to your houses on our way here."

"Thanks, Eric," says Stan.

"No problem. See you all here tomorrow at noon."

They turn around to each head home.

.

The next day, a bright and sunny July day – despite snow still on the mountain tops and a cool breeze blowing off them, the here of them wait at the lake site. A few other kids show up as well.

"Hey, fellas," Butters says as he joins them.

"Hey, Butters," says Stan.

"Did you guys read _Fartenetics_?" Kyle asks them.

"Yes," says Kenny.

"Yup, all of it," says Stan.

"What did you think?" Kyle asks.

"I think it has some helpful techniques and ideas. If you don't rigorously verify it with scientific approaches and peer review," Stan replies back.

"Yeah, it seemed okay, except…" says Kenny.

"Yeah, except…" says Stan.

"The farting?" Kyle says what they didn't say.

"Exactly. It just vaguely smells of that time Eric had you smelling his farts," says Stan.

"Yeah, but Butters was cured," says Kyle.

"That's right," says Butters.

" **Attention! Attention Cretans!** "

The kids all go silent for Eric, after he has exited a wooden shack with Comm. E.T.C. painted on the door.

"First of all I want to thank everybody for coming who got my e-vites. I'm sure all of you checked out online reviews to find out just what _Fartenetics_ is all about. And I'm sure you all came to witness it perform a miracle."

Clyde speaks, after having raised a hand, "I was told there would be punch and pie."

"Goddamnit, there's no punch and pie! You wanna see a miracle or not Craig?"

"Then maybe you'll remember to pack some for the next miracle. Anyway, without further ado or Craig, it is time to witness _Fartenetics_ in action," Eric then turns and calls out toward the shack, "Please come out now!"

The shack door creeks open and out steps Tweek. He walks over next to Eric.

"I'm sure you all know Tweek; the only one of us who was born with God's wrist watch left in him after his creation. Tweek has long since suffered us with his constant reframes of 'Oh God' or 'Oh Jesus'. Many of us have wanted – nay – _dreamed_ of slapping the shit out of him until he stopped. Tweek, would you like Myentology's _Fartenetics_ to cure you?"

"Aaaggghhh – it's not painful is it? I hate pain," Tweek says, twitching his head about.

"Absolutely painless. That's your reactionary mind reacting to the idea, Tweek. Are you ready to be healed?"

"Oh Jesus!"

"I'll take that as a 'Yes'. Tweek," Eric turns around, lowers his pants and underwear, and bends his ass over at Tweek, "I want you to tell yourself you are healed!" Eric then farts on Tweek.

"Oh God!"

"I want you to picture you looking at yourself in a mirror," he farts on Tweek again.

"Oh _Jeeeee_ ," Tweek closes his eyes and shakes.

"Whoa!" Kyle exclaims.

Eric continues, "Only the reflection is also you. Tell your prime-verse self you are healed and will no longer spout off those annoying catch phrases again!" he farts eve more loudly on Tweek.

"Oh G…" Tweek shakes and clenches his fists.

"Tell yourself again, Tweek!" he farts on Tweek again, this time more of a squeaker.

" **Oh!** " Tweek shakes again.

"Say to yourself you are now healed!" and with that Eric lets out one final ascending squeak, which sputters out.

"I … am … healed!" Tweek says, closing his eyes and shaking betwixt words.

Eric stands erect and pulls his pants and underwear back up, "Ahhh…" he exhales and then turns to face Tweek. "Tweek, say _'Oh Jesus!'_."

"No!"

"What about _'Oh God!'_?"

"No!" Tweek twitches nervously.

"Behold! Another Cretan healed! Tweek, you have now entered the condition of Befuddled. _Fartenetics_ has done it again!"

"Wow. Stan, did you see that?" Kyle asks him.

"Yeah. To think, all this time all we had to do is tell Tweek to tell himself to stop being annoying," Stan replies.

Eric bellows, "Hip! Hip!"

Butters and Tweek both responds in unison, " **Hooray!** "

"All right, so who'd like to become a Myentologist trainee?" Eric asks loudly.

Hands fly up.


	2. Chapter 2

Eric sits behind an old rickety wooden desk dragged out of a bigger wooden building. On the desk is a stack of papers and a couple of pens.

Butters, first in line, walks up, "That was amazing, Eric."

"Well, Butters, if you enjoyed _Fartenetics_ , you may be ready to join the Puddle Org."

"What's that?" Butters asks him.

"It's where you train to be a Myentologist and learn to help Translucate others."

"All that technobabble sounds interesting!" says Butters.

"Okay, so you want to join the Puddle Org?"

"Yes, I think."

"Good, good. I just need you to sign this agreement binding your Cretan to us for a bazillion years," Eric pushes a paper forward.

"A bazillion years? Gosh, I can't even comprehend anything over two hundred."

"Butters, just sign it so we can get the line moving."

"Oh, okay," Butters clicks a pen and starts reading, "Gosh, it's rather long."

"I know. Take your time but hurry up."

"There are so many big words in here that I don't know the meaning of."

"Don't worry, there will be plenty of time to figure them out during Word Hurdling."

"Hum, sounds like fun. I'll just go ahead and sign it now."

"Thank you."

"All done," says Butters.

"Thank you. Please don't steal the pen."

Butters moves off and Tweek steps up. Off to a side, being the line, Stan and Kyle look on and talk.

"So, you gonna join?" Stan asks Kyle.

"Maybe."

"I never envisioned the day I'd willingly be in line for Eric."

"It seems harmless enough. I want to help people," says Kyle.

"Yeah, me, too. No white robes or Nike shoes; so far, so good."

"You know what? I'm doing it," Kyle walks over and joins at the end of the line.

"Thank you, Tweek. Next in line.

Kyle stops when he realizes Stan isn't behind him; he turns around, "Wait, why aren't you in line?"

"I don't know," says Stan.

"Don't you want to help people?" Kyle asks him

"Yeah, I do. Helping is nice," says Stan.

"Well, then get in line."

"Something is stopping me."

"Yeah, I know – the farting. But I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason for it," says Kyle.

"No, it's not that."

"Oh, okay, I get it – it's like a rollercoaster your first time at a theme park; you just got some nervous jitters," Kyle walks over and grabs one of Stan's hands and pulls him into line.

"I guess that's it…" says Stan.

"Look, Kenny, is already in line," says Kyle.

Kenny shrugs his shoulders, "I was bored."

Some time passes and Kyle finally reaches the desk.

"Kyle, glad to see you. I could always use more Cretans to help me help others. Just sign this agreement binding your Cretan to us for a bazillion years."

"Is that even a real word?" Kyle asks.

"I think so," says Eric.

"'cause," Kyle plays with his iPhone, "I'm at Merriam Webster's online dictionary and it looks like a fake word."

"Kyle, the fact you looked up Merriam's dictionary the definition on 'bazillion' indicates to me you're stretching it a bit."

"That doesn't even make sense. Why a bazillion? At best I might like live to a hundred and thirty," says Kyle.

"What's wrong with that? Are you doing something with your Cretan for a next near bazillion years?" Eric asks Kyle.

"I guess not. Though I have no idea what a Cretan even is," says Kyle.

"The Myentology training will cover that."

"Well, it seems harmless enough. I guess I'll sign it," Kyle then moves down to the signature line and does just that.

"Thank you. And don't steal the pen. Next in line."

Stan moves up, "I'm the last one."

"Okay, Stan, all I need you to do is to sign this agreement binding your Cretan to us for a bazillion years."

"Fine," Stan then signs it.

"Congratulations, Stan – you're the fastest signer today! Please don't steal the pen."

"Well, Kyle, Kenny, butters and others already signed, so I figured what the hell. If there's a problem, I'll join a class-action lawsuit."

Eric stands up, "All right. Congratulations everybody, you are all now official members of Puddle Org training here at Ranch Seasoning. I expect all of you to be here Monday morning at 6:30 am sharp to begin orientation and then training."

All the kids say in unison: "Aaawww…"

"6:30 am during Summer vacation? This sucks," says Stan.

"Take the time tomorrow to hang out with your family and discuss with them your new path in life."

.

Sunday afternoon. Kenny, Kyle and Stan sit in Kyle's house, playing video games.

"So, what do you suppose it's like?" Kyle asks them.

"Killing ogres with hammers?" Stan replies.

"No, the Puddle Org. Is it like the Red Cross? Mercury One? Going out and helping people? Maybe a walk-in help clinic," says Kyle.

"I don't know. Probably local. I don't think our parents would let us out of the county alone, let alone cross state lines," says Stan.

"Cross state lines? What are you kids talking about?" Gerald asks.

"Oh, yeah – I forgot. Our friend Eric started an organization to help people and we joined it; we start training tomorrow morning."

"That's great son. I'm glad to see your religion has taught you well. What's the name of the organization?"

"Puddle Org. It's part of Myentology," Kyle replies.

"Hum. I'll have to check it out. Where's it located?"

"Over at the old Lake Blue Fish."

"Tell you what – how about I drive you boys out there tomorrow?"

"Cool. Thanks dad."

.

Early the next morning as the sun is still rising, Gerald pulls into the patchy grassy area off the road where Ranch Seasoning is located. He puts the vehicle in park and looks over at Kyle who is still sound asleep in the passenger seat after having been buckled in. In the back seat Stan and Kenny also sleep.

Herald gently nudges Kyle, "Wake up, son – we're here."

"Huh?" Kyle says as he awakens.

"Come on, get your stuff," says Gerald as he opens his door and steps to the back to open the trunk.

Kyle jumps out and looks around to see other kids already there. He takes his school backpack out of the passenger side floor board. The back doors open and Stan and Kenny hop out, too; Gerald brings them their backpacks from the trunk.

"What time is it?" Stan asks.

"6:25."

The remaining kids come walking in or riding bicycles in.

"This reminds me of when I was a kid in the Boy Scouts. We learned all kinds of things. How to make fires, how to forge for food, identity animal tracks, identify rodent genitalia…"

"Nah, I just wanna help people. I'm perfectly happy living in the Civil Society and buying food and not even having to think about rodent genitalia. That's worth some alienation of my liberty," says Kyle.

They all turn to see Butters when they hear his voice over a bullhorn, "Attention children, attention: The Commissioner will be out shortly. Please form a line side-by-side. Thanks."

Gerald watches the kids form a line, "Discipline – that's good."

"I can't believe we're doing this," Stan comments.

"It's good to shake things up sometimes.," Kyle says to him.

The door to a shed opens and Eric steps out, dressed in a Popeye the Sailor Man faux Navy suit, white hat, and dark sunglasses that reflect everything in front of him but keep his eyes hidden."

"A fine bunch of young children…" Eric says to Butters, "Welcome to Ranch Seasoning. You're all here because you want to train to help people. Be forewarned: This is a strict personal and physical training regimen. If you want to become Myentologists, I expect you to strictly adhere to rules and regulations. I can be a good guy or I can be one real mean son of a bitch. It's up to you."

"Sounds like you kids are in good hands. Have fun," Gerald turns around and heads back to the car.

"Butters, show them to their Dumpings."

"Yo ho, Commissioner!"

"Wait, where will you be?" Kyle asks Eric.

"I'll be in mu bunk; I have important Myentology stuff to work on. See you in twenty-five minutes," Eric recedes back into his shack, barely cracking the door open.

"Walk this way, fellas, "Butters motions; they follow.

They enter a big old shack with broken windows, holes in the wall, broken and loose baseboards, mold and mildew, and rats eying Kenny.

Butters speaks, "Why, ah, these are the children's Dumpings, where you'll be staying during your Myentology training. You'll each be assigned a mattress – sleeping on the wrong mattress is one demerit; you're required to keep it clean, failure to do so is one demerit; you'll each be assigned a uniform that you must keep clean, failure to do so is ne demerit; not being ready for inspection is one demerit; complaining about demerits is one demerit; several sequential demerits puts you in a state of Obama. The uniforms are in that cardboard box. You have twenty minutes to unpack, pee, and get changed for inspection," Butters then leaves.

"Well, this sucks," says Stan.

"Mother Teresa lives in squalor to help other people – so can we. Come on – we're a part of something now, the Puddle Org; let's get these uniforms on," Kyle reaches down and hands them each a uniform; tucked away into generic plastic shopping bags, they each remove articles and hold them up.

They each hold up obviously used clothing of blue pants, yellow shirts, with Ranch Seasoning written in green across the shirts.

"Spicy," Stan says with a little sarcasm.

.

All the kids line up as before, only dressed in their Ranch Seasoning uniforms. Butters joins them in line. Butters looks at the time, then just as 7:00 is about to hit, he blows a piccolo hanging around his neck, playing the three notes from old maritime tradition. At 7:00 sharp the door to Eric's shock opens and Eric walks out. Like the original captain of the U.S.S. Excelsior in "Star Trek III: The Search for Spock", he whacks a leg with a riding crop impatiently.

Eric begins inspection.

"Looking good, Child Butters."

"Yo ho, Commissioner!"

"Looking good, random nameless kid.

"Gee, thanks," says the kid.

"Tweek, that pointy unkempt hair is totally unacceptable. You'll need to slick it back. Consider this your only warning."

"Oh—" he sees Eric look at him when Eric lowers his face down to reveal his eyes just over the rims of the glasses, "kay. Agh," he twitches nervously.

"The same goes for all of you. And no hats," says Eric.

Kenny takes off his hood, "Awww…"

"But you're wearing one," says Kyle.

"That's one demerit, Child Kyle. Do not give any guff. Guff is unacceptable. I know what's best here at Ranch Seasoning."

"Sorry," says Kyle.

"Sorry _what_?" Eric asks Kyle.

"Sir?"

"Commissioner," Eric corrects him.

"Sorry Commissioner," he removes his hat and his big fluffy red hair pops up.

He continues looking each kid over.

"Good. Everything appears to be in order," Eric walks back away from them, "Remember to keep your kennies clean. Normally this time of morning you'd be childrening your posts, but being the first day, instead I shall fill you in on some basics. While researching more deeply into how to help others. I discovered that each person has a Cretan in them," Eric sees Kyle raise a hand, "Yes, Child Kyle?"

"Is that like a soul?"

"Good question, Kyle. A Cretan is a being of energy that resides in us all; the human body is merely a Hot Pocket for it to temporarily reside. As a result, you are _all_ Cretans. And Cretans are imperfect and need to be molded. Before you can help anybody else, you need to help yourself. Here you will learn to help all Hogs become Translucent," he sees Butters raise a hand, "Yes, Child Butters?"

"We're helping pigs now, Commissioner?"

"No, Child Butters, Hogs are people who are not Myentologists. They're pre-Translucents. The goal is to Trans' the whole world. Only then can Hogkind move from a Condition of Befuddlement to All Bars."

Stan raises a hand and speaks when Eric points at him, "Conditions, Commissioner?"

"Since Cretans are imperfect and need molding, during said molding Cretans will move up the Conditions ladder. All Cretans begin at Befuddlement. They move through Obama, Never-doWell, questioning, Problem Child, Dodo, Danger, E.R., Regular Affluence, Transformers, and ultimately hope to reach the most powerful Condition of All Bars."

"I guess that makes sense," says Stan aloud.

"Here at Ranch Seasoning, you'll be learning a lot that will appear odd to Hogs, so it's important to have a land story. Hogs can be jealous and irrational and not to be trusted. Kyle?"

"I'm sure I can trust my mom, Commissioner," says Kyle.

"Kyle, your mom's a Hog. She may be the biggest Hog in the whole wide world. So, when Hogs come here or you're out in the Hog world, you need to be creative about what you do, where you work, and be selective about what you say. Any questions? Child Butters?"

Butters lowers his hand and asks, "But, ah, aren't we all just Hogs, too, just Hogs under Myentology?"

"Yes and no. Hogs don't even know they're Hogs. You, on the other hand, have taken the first step in recognizing you're a Hog and that two legs are good, four legs are bad. With Myentology's help you'll all become Trans-Cretans. Okay, breakfast is in about an hour, so why don't you all just kick back until then."

"Come on, Tweek – time to go get breakfast ready!" says Butters.

As Tweek and Butters leave, with no further word, Eric turns around and goes back into his shack.

Kyle looks at Kenny and Stan and says, "There must be something interesting to do around here. Come on – let's go exploring."

.

CUT TO about forty minutes later as three of them look about the ground elsewhere on Ranch Seasoning.

"Found anything yet?" Kenny asks them.

"I found a rock," says Kyle.

"I found another rock. How about you, Kenny?" asks Stan.

"Another used condom," Kenny responds.

"This kinda sucks," says Kyle.

"Hey – Clyde is coming. Maybe he found something," says Stan.

"Hey, Clyde, found anything?" Kyle asks.

"Just rocks and trash. I think I saw Jesus' face in a rock, but it turned out to be one of the bearded guys from ZZ Top," Clyde responds.

"I guess that would be kind of cool if I knew who ZZ Top was," says Kyle.

"Anyway, Butters says to go get cleaned up and meet at the Trough Hall," Clyde tells them all.

"Good, I'm starving. Where's the shower – we don't have one in our Dumpings," Stan asks.

Clyde points to the lake.

"But that water must be like fifty degrees," says Kyle.

"Tough. Wait until you have to use the holes," says Clyde.

"The holes?" Kyle asks.

.

The kids enter a small dilapidated barn. In the center are pig feeding troughs arranged into a square. Inside the troughs are plastic grocery bags lining them and food inside the bags.

"Where are the chairs?" Stan asks.

Butters, dumping food into a trough with an ice cream scoop replies, "The Commissioner says they sit on the ground in China, so a billion Chinese people can't be wrong. Plus, all the chairs are currently in use."

"So, where are the chopsticks then?" Stan asks.

"Sorry, children, but we can't afford them," says Butters.

"What's for breakfast?" Kyle asks.

"Grade F gruel, a small package of plain peanuts, celery sticks, and Soylent milk"

"Well, I guess it's better than nothing," Kyle comments.

"I don't know, it just seems like the un-unnecessary and cruel thing the old Eric Cartman would have done, Stan comments.

"How dare you besmirch dear Commissioner like that! Why, that's going straight into your Tattle folder. E.T.C. paid for all this food so generously for all of us out of his pocket," Butters scorns Kyle and Stan.

"Sorry – I didn't know. Still some residual mistrust," says Stan.

"That's Hog talk. Why, ah, if E.T.C. didn't mean well, he'd have made you bring your own food," says Butters.

"Yeah, I guess…" Kyle comments.

"Eight-thirty sharp!" Butters yells out, "Gruel time!"

All the kids kneel down and begin eating out of the troughs with their mouths. Kyle notices Butters walk off and sit at a table with Tweek. Eric shows up seconds later and sits to eat with the two.

"Huh," Kyle blurts out.

"For the love of God – will whomever is snorting like a pig stop? I'm eating here," says Stan annoyed.

.

The kids once again line up.

"I'm surprised we didn't have to clean up before inspection," says Stan.

"Good. Maybe now we'll get some training," says Kyle.

Eric again exists his shed. Butters plays the old maritime three-note piece on the piccolo again.

Eric says, "God, Butters, play something else – Tasha Yar is rolling around in her grave…"

"Yo ho, Commissioner. At attention, Cretans!" Butters commands.

"Thank you. An important part of being a Myentologist is learning how to master utilizing your person, energy, space, and time. To achieve this, all Cretans are required to do P.E.S.T. work. Of first order is fixing the grounds so they meet local city ordinances. So, I need all Cretans to pull weeds and move rocks. Other tasks as assigned," Eric then goes back into his shed.

"Kenny and Clyde, you'll lead weed pulling detail. Stan and Kyle, you'll fish rocks out of the lake to make perimeter wall. The rest of you, pick up loose debris and rake. Well, come on, this place isn't going to fix itself," says Butters.

Kyle, Kenny, and Stan glance at each other. Clyde looks over.

"So, ah … glancing is a thing now?"


	3. Chapter 3

An hour later. Stand and Kyle carry a large rock from the lake, one on each end.

"I don't know. I just feel like I'm learning to help others by carrying rocks," says Stan.

Kyle responds, "It makes sense. If we have to learn here, we got to fix it up or it'll be shut down. It's a small price to pay to help people the way Commissioner helped Tweek and Butters."

"I guess, but my fingers are so cold I Can barely feel them," says Stan.

"Well, stop trying to feel them they're your fingers – you already know what they feel like."

They drop the rock into a pile with other rocks, then head back to the lake. They pass by other kids pulling weeds.

Clyde speaks, "I have a theory, Kenny – big lawn companies call weeds _weeds_ to promote their grass products. If you grew an entire lawn of jut 'weeds', they wouldn't be weeds, would they?"

"I guess," Kenny replies.

"Not much one for words, huh? If we're gonna pull weeds together, you're gonna have to be more engaging in my mental flights of fancy."

"Okay."

"So … what's so pretty about roses anyway? I think big rose companies tell us this to make rose sales go up. They don't smell that great either."

"It's a floral conspiracy," says Kenny, humoring Clyde.

"That's better."

"Ay! Where are your gloves!" Eric bellows to them.

Clyde and Kenny jump a tad, startled.

"You didn't give us any," says Clyde.

"You're supposed to wear gloves! One demerit for all of you!" Eric storms off.

"Damnit," says Clyde.

.

Another hour later. Kyle and Stan are carrying another big rock.

"If I drop it, let me know – I can't even feel it in my hands. How many rocks are we supposed to get anyway?" says Stan.

"I don't know. Butters said until he says to stop," Kyle replies back.

Stan continues complaining, "My back aches. I thought only adults had back aches."

"Here comes the Commissioner now. Commissioner" Kyle calls out.

Eric walks over, "Child Kyle – what seems to be the problem?"

"We're getting tired and our hands are cold. Is it possible to move onto something else?"

"I understand. You're in a Condition of Questioning. It's normal for Cretans your age to be Questioning," Eric comments.

"It is?" asks Kyle.

"What you need is a change of pace to quiet your burdensome mind. Come right this way…" says Eric.

Stan and Kyle follow Eric to the Dumpings. They stop once inside.

"All right then. These Dumpings are substandard and probably should have been demolished. Sweep it out, remove the cobwebs, put old junk and garbage in the trash can, clean the windows, clean the trash cans, then the real cleaning will begin. Remember: only completion of P.E.S.T. work will truly begin to reform Cretans. Things to do," Eric says and swiftly comes about and leaves.

Kyle comments after seeing Stan looking at him, "What? This is for us. We're improving our living conditions."

.

A couple more hours pass. Stan and Kyle scrub the wooden floors with warm water and Oxi Clean, ringing out dirty water with rags into a bucket. They stop when they hear the maritime call on the whistle.

Kyle says, "Oh, thank God. Maybe now we'll start learning to help people."

"Ow," Stan says, while standing up.

They make their way outside to see other kids lining up, including Butters who is also dirty from work.

Eric comes strolling over, holding a glass with ice lemonade, with a straw and half a lime on the edge of the rim. He reaches over and rips the whistle off the string around Butters' neck and throws it as far as he can to the lake.

"Sorry, dear Commissioner" says Butters.

"All right then. P.E.S.T. work is over for today," says Eric.

"Yayyy!" all the ids exclaim.

"now begins the Post work," says Eric.

"So, that's work after work?" asks Kyle.

"Correct. One demerit. Each day Cretans need to man their posts to make sure certain functions are performed, from cooking to medical. Butters, you're the nurse; Kyle and Stan, you'll start food preparation for dinner; Clyde and Kenny, garbage detail; and the rest of you laundry and assorted cleaning. Any Student Cretan who needs medical, see Butters. Now I must Vangelis myself away to work on important Myentology work," Eric walks away, sipping the lemonade.

"All right, the doctor is in. Anybody got an owie?" Butters asks the kids.

All the kids raise their hands.

"Oh, wowburgers. Stan and Kyle, you two first since you have food prep'. Everybody else, form a line at that M*A*S*H shack."

Butters walks over to the shack and enters. As the kids line up, Butters sets up a dinner tray stand and lays things on it.

"Okie dokie. Tell me your problem, Kyle – I'm listening."

"My fingers are numb and I'm dizzy."

"Hum," Butters mutters, rubbing his chin, "sounds like you need a glass of Oval-thal."

"What's that?" Kyle asks him.

Butters answers while pouring a glass, "Why, ah, E.T.C. invented it for Cretan wellbeing. It's a secret combo of Ovaltine and Pentothal."

"You know, I've never actually had Ovaltine before. I thought it was a fake product like Stay Puff marshmallows," Kyle says and takes the glass after Butters is done steering the mix.

"Next. I'm listening, Stan."

"Yeah, my back is sore and I'm kind of dizzy, too," says Stan.

"Hum, well it sounds like you need a glass of Oval-thal as well."

"What about my back?" asks Stan.

"Here's an Icy Cold. Unless the pain is just in your head," says Butters.

"No, it's in my back."

"You sure? E.T.C. says most ailments are in our heads, caused by the conflicts of our Cretans and any Overts and Holdbacks we're hiding."

"No, still my back," Stan replies.

"Oh. Too bad. Now you'll have to go through an Analyzing. You two clean up and then begin food prep'. Next."

Stan and Kyle walk off. Another kid steps up.

"I'm listening."

"My hands are blistering from pulling weeds."

"Oh, dear. Are you sure it's not in your mind?"

"No, it's my hands," the kid says, opening his palms.

"Oh, geez, well, you'll need an Analyzing, too. Here's an Oval-thal. Next!"

.

Kenny and Clyde toss garbage into a large trash can on wheels.

Clyde speaks, "I have a theory. They say one man's trash is another gold. I think they just call trash _'trash'_ so people willingly throw it away. It's probably like the movie 'The Stupids', and there's a secret large garbage cabal who've gotten rich off our trash gold, and they have the audacity to charge us to collect it."

"I guess so. So, do you feel rich right now?" Kenny asks Clyde.

"No, this trash is garbage so far."

.

Kyle and Stan enter a dirty old room with a large rusted sink, a dirty metal storage counter and an old meat storage freezer that makes various rattling noises and shakes as it runs.

"This place is filthy; we're gonna have to clean it before it's sanitary enough toi prepare food in," says Kyle.

"Yippee, more P.E.S.T. work," Stan drags an empty old cooking oil barrel over to use as a trashcan.

"Wait – does this mean our breakfast was cooked in _this?_ " Kyle comments.

"Okay, back her on up here, fellas," they hear Butters shout from outside, followed by beeps. They go outside to see what's going on.

A run-down and shaky white box truck pulls up. Ned gets out.

"What's this?" Stan asks Butters.

"Twice a week food delivery," says Butters.

"I thought you were the nurse for the Post work," Kyle asks Butters.

"I wear many Hats here at Ranch Seasoning, Child Kyle. Dear Commissioner says we each need to find out Hat in Life; and since I'm still in a Condition of Questioning, E.T.C. says we're all Bi-Hat. However, my main function is to be the Commanding Older Person; I have more C.O.P. work to do," Butters walks away.

Stan says, "Okay, but I am a kid and have no idea what I'm doing…" he takes a clipboard Ned hands him.

"Uuummm, don't look at me, I just delivery," Ned says with his electrolarynx to his throat.

"Ahhh, six barrels of gruel, four bags of potatoes, two pounds of powdered Ovaltine, two three-pound bag of salt, four bags of chicken nuggets…"

.

Twenty minutes later. Kyle and Stan set down a barrel of gruel.

"There, that's the last of the delivery."

"Thank God – I'm exhausted. Now we can finally—" Kyle is interrupted.

"Hey!" Butters exclaims having walked in through the door neither of them have closed yet.

"What?" Kyle asks.

"Child Kyle, Child Stan, what do you think you're doing?"

"Just taking a minute; we just finished offloading the supplies," Kyle replies back.

"You two offloaded an entire weeks' worth! You mis-read the inventory sheet!"

"Well, it looks like there's room…" says Kyle.

"If we carry that much supply at once and a government Hog comes by and sees it, they'll think we're running a business and who knows what else! We can't help anybody if we get shut down!"

"So, you're saying…" Kyle inquires.

"I'll just have to call the truck back so you two Befuddled pre-Translucents can re-load half of this. Geez Louise! You two wait here and star preparing dinner; I have to go to E.T.C.'s office to use the only phone in Ranch Seasoning. One demerit for each of you," Butters then leaves back out the door.

.

Some time passes. Stan and Kyle sit on the floor peeling potatoes.

"I can't peal – my hand is cramping up."

"Agh – that one's cramped, too. I can barely get it open," says Kyle.

Butters opens the door and blows the whistle he went and re-claimed.

" **AGH!** My friggin' ears!" Kyle exclaims.

"Look alive, Cretans! This is your fifteen-minute warning; you have to clean up, potty, and put on clean kennies for studies. Did you finish peeling the potatoes?" asks Butters.

"No," says Stan.

"What about the pahtahtoes?" asks Butters.

"Aren't those the same things?" asks Kyle.

"Ah, I guess so," says butters.

"Then no," says Kyle.

"Well, then don't worry – there'll be some time to peel more before dinner is served," Butters says and leaves.

Kyle says to Stan after Stan looks at him, "On this plus side, we're finally going to learn _Fartenetics_."

.

Kenny, Kyle, Stan, and butters, and the other kids sit in a large empty room at old plastic folding tables. The walls are bare except a big picture of Eric's head. After a minute Eric finally comes in, still wearing his attire and slapping his thigh with the riding crop.

"Greetings, children."

"Yo ho dear Commissioner" Butters exclaims.

"Rest assured, I am one of you, so even though I'm late, one demerit will be added to my Tattle folder."

"Wow, stunning _and_ brave, Commissioner" Butters adds.

"Thank you, thank you. In order to begin learning _Fartenetics_ , pre-Translucents must understand that they are all still learning and therefore you are all Student Cretans Under Me. There are eight Student Cretan levels. But be forewarned: in order for Cretans to master these levels and become fully Translucent, you S.C.U.M. must get you're A.C.T.'s together. Affinity, Communication, and Temper; getting along and building relationships."

Kyle raises a hand.

"Yes, Child Kyle."

"What are these eight levels, exactly, C?"

"Astute inquiry, Child Kyle. Unfortunately, nobody can be told in advance what each level is; it defeats the purpose of the mental and physical breakthroughs. Suffice to say you're on what Myentology calls: The Bridge to Somewhere."

Stan raises a hand.

"Child Stan?"

"What if one or more of us reaches one or more levels ahead of other students? Can we share with others?"

" _No_. S.C.U.M. aren't ready for the future breakthroughs of Myentology. Think of it as a cranial implosion. Skipping ahead can cause Cretans to black out, shit their pants in Wal-Mart, vote Democrat, and suffer from erectile dysfunction."

"Oh, no – that might be a big deal to me in a few years!" says Butters.

"That's right, Child Butters. And one demerit for not calling me Commissioner or E.T.C.."

"Agh – I don't wanna shit my pants in Wal-Mart, Commissioner" says Tweek.

"No one ever does, Child Tweek. Now, I know you've all worked hard today and being that it's your first day, we'll go easy on the first study block today by engraining affinity for others – excepts Hogs – into all of you by having you all sing the 'Barney the Dinosaur' song _I Love You_ for two hours. And one … two … three … four…"

.

Two hours later. We hear then all sing the final words of the song one last time; some of them with eyes glazed over, nervous twitches, and over all looking like their collective sanity is about to break.

"Okay, wasn't' that fun?" Eric asks them.

Tweek's head jerks to a side and vibrates, goes back into place, and repeats while one eye squints. Kyle shudders while starring out wide-eyed, then blurts out after a few seconds of increasing shuddering.

"…aa _AAHHHG_ ggg…" Kyle blurts out.

"One demerit. So, is everyone feeling more affinity for their fellow man?" Eric asks.

"Yo ho, dear Commissioner! From head to toe, to my mattress kickstand that keeps me from accidentally rolling out of bed at night!"

"Very good, Child Butters. Well, everybody?" Eric asks again.

All the kids shake their heads "Yes" and mutter aloud it, too, to avoid any repercussions.

"Very good," Eric walks to his desk, "Now, to be more effective communicators, we'll be doing a few different things, and one of those will be reading the complex literary masterpiece: _The Bridges of Madison County_. For the next two hours. Please come up and take a copy."

.

A little over two hours later. Eric stops reading the book aloud with all the kids.

"All right, it's five fifty-nine. You have ten minutes to use the bathroom, put your book on your bed, and be at the dinner barn by six for dinner. Now I must go to my office. – I have important Myentology work to work on," Eric then quickly leaves.

All the kids start racing each other to get to the bathrooms first.

"Wow, that's E.T.C. for you – always thinking of others!"

.

Once again the kids are sitting on the floor around the square trough; except Stan and Kyle, who have finished up peeling potatoes are have already started cooking.

"What is this we're stirring?" Stan asks.

"I don't know. The bag simply says: mystery mush," Kyle responds.

.

Kyle and Stan carry around one of the pots of mystery mush and pour it into the trough while slowly walking along each side. Butters follows behind dumping an ice cream scoop of mashed potatoes for each kind and dropping a couple thin and sickly-looking chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs as well.

Butters says, "Eat up and save spaces for Child Kyle and Child Stan. They're bringing more mystery mush."

Stan and Kyle return with the final pot and start pouring it into the remaining empty trough. Butters comes back with cups of Oval-thal; he sets them down, goes back for more, and continues repeating the process. Kyle and Stand return the pot to the kitchen, then come back with a bag of green apples in each's hands; they give each kid an apple.

"C.O.P. Butters!" Eric commands from his personal secluded table.

"Coming, Commissioner" he then turns to Kyle and Stan, "Child Kyle, Child Stan, you two finish handing out Oval-thals; E.T.C. has requested my presence again."

As they hand out the apples, they notice Butters hand Eric a chocolate milk and a big red Granny Smith apple, which Eric then begins eating. Kyle and Stan look at each other.

"Am I the only one thinking of that repeated quote from the Youtube channel—"

"CinemaSins. No, it did pop into my head, too," Stan finished Kyle's thought.

.

Hours later. The kids sit ion near silence on their mattress as 9:30 approaches.

"I _still_ can't believe we spent our second study block reading _The Bridges of Madison County_. _Again_ ," says Kyle.

"I know. What the fuck was up with the run-on sentences about magenta winds and pelicans riding on dolphins?" Stand asks.

Kyle says, "You suppose it's one of those things that's _so brilliant_ we're just not smart enough to comprehend it? Ike a plain red square in an art museum?"

"I don't know, but by default it's got to be better than the square," says Stan.

Butters enters, already in his pajamas. He blows the maritime three notes on the whistle.

"Look alive! E.T.C. incoming!"

"Blow, Satchomo, blow," Eric says briefly to Butters before turning his attention to his kids, "Now no doubt most of you are having trouble going to sleep."

"My back is throbbing like my mom's vibratos set on slow, Commissioner" says Clyde.

"My hands hurt from the pussing blisters, Commissioner" says Kyle.

"I understand. My back aches from the hours of pouring over my research and my hands bled from the months of writing _Fartenetics_. I've suffered like that famous guy; can't recall his name – had a beard, ate bread, get nailed to a plus symbol."

"Stunning and brave yet again, E.T.C..," says Butters.

"Thank you, Child Butters. Too much Ranch Seasoning too son can be a lot to handle, and to cope with your sleeping deficiencies, once again I've selflessly developed a system to help you sleep. It's called the Pull Assist Scheme. It's also an affinity-developing tool. I will demonstrate. Child butters, lay down."

Butters lies down on a mattress. Eric walks over and touches one of Butter's arms.

"Feel that?" Eric asks.

"Yes."

"Good," he then walks to the next kid and touches a leg, "Feel that?"

"Yes," says the kid.

"Good," Eric then walks to the next kid – Stan – and sticks a finger out, "Pull my finger."

Stan does so; Eric farts.

"Smell that?"

"Yes."

"Good," he then moves on to Kyle, who is on the next mattress and starts to pull his pants down, "Now, pull my penis."

"No!" Kyle rebukes.

"Good, good. That last one was a test. No Overts are allowed; Overts cover all sins, including sexual acts of any kind. 2B is second base, and 3B is third base. Only I may commit Overts in the pursuit of bettering humanity through Myentology. Kyle, you touch the next kid, and that kid touches the next kid until you've all touched each other in an affinity orgy of touching. And finger pulling. Smell the affinity. Well, good night," Eric presses on some wall-mounted round lights to shut them off and leaves.

After a few seconds of silence, Stan says to Kyle, "Feeling tired yet?"

"No."

"No," Kenny also replies.

"Maybe if you tried shutting up we'd have enough peace to do so," says Clyde.

"He's right. Tomorrow is a new day – who knows what exciting things we'll learn!" says Kyle.

"That's the spirit, Kyle. Sweet dreams," says Butters.


	4. Chapter 4

"AGH!" Kyle wakes up with a scream. He plugs his ears as Butters stands nearby, playing Reveille on the piccolo whistle.

Other kids moan in anger and plug this ears.

"Goddamnit, Butters – _why?_ " Stan says angrily.

Butters finishes, "Six thirty! Time to freshen up, use the bathroom, and get dressed for more P.E.S.T. work!"

"Oh … goodie," says Kyle with sarcasm.

"That's C.O.P. Butters when the day starts," says butters.

"C.O.P. Butters, do you have to play that shrill piccolo to wake us up with?" asks Stan.

"Well, Child Stan, this little thing here is all I got. But if it's a problem, you can take it up with E.T.C.."

.

Again the kids line up for inspection. The door to Eric's shack Kyle opens slightly and Eric comes out once again in his outfit.

"Good, good, good, good … Child Kyle, you look frazzled; what's wrong?"

"Commissioner, the shrill octaves of Butters' piccolo to wake us up, leaves me on edge."

"Hum. I understand, Child Kyle. Starting tomorrow that problem will be rectified," Eric moves on and finishes inspecting the kids. "All very good. Great news – today is Tuesday!"

"Yey!" Butters clasp.

"Ah, why, Commissioner?" asks Kyle.

"You see, Child Kyle, in Myentology, the week begins on Tuesday. Now, you'll be doing the same duties as assigned yesterday. As for me, I'm deep into Myentology research, so I must go. TTFN," Eric recedes back Kyle into the shack Kyle and shuts the door.

"You heard dear Commissioner," says Butters to them.

The kids disperse.

Clyde looks at Kenny, "Come on, Kenny. I got more new theories. They say you have to walk in a man's shoes to know him, but I think it's a secret shoe maker conspiracy to save on machines to wear shoes in and test them so they can save money by having us do it for free for them…" they walk off.

.

Hours pass by and once again it's bed time.

"Do you feel that?" Kyle asks Stan.

"Yes."

"Good. Now, pull my finger. Good," says Kyle.

Stan then does the same in turn to Kenny.

"I'm almost half-way into _'The Bridges of Madison County'_ and I _still_ don't get it. I didn't know I'd have to have Albert Einstein intellect to understand it's purported genius," says Kyle.

"Don't worry, fellas, I'm sure you'll figure it out," says butters.

The view cuts to the outside of the Dumpings where rats scurry by as we hear Clyde's voice.

"Is it just me or does it smell like shit in here?"

.

Two days later.

Kyle's eyes bolt open to the sound of an air horn being blown.

"Okay, wake up you S.C.U.M.!" Eric shouts.

Kyle's head shakes as his eyes force open the dark sags underneath the.

"Freshen up, use the holes, and get dressed! Child Kyle," Eric says in a lower voice, "I solved that piccolo problem for you," Eric then leaves.

"Thanks, Kyle," Clyde says with heavy sarcasm.

.

Eric inspects the kids.

"Good. Great news – today is Thursday!"

"Yay!" Butters claps.

Eric continues, "And on Thursdays Cretans get Shore Leave."

"You mean we get to go home, Commissioner?" Kyle asks.

"Correct. After P.E.S.T. work."

"Wow, that _is_ great news! Commissioner," says Kyle.

"For three hours. And there will be no studies today, only P.E.S.T. work."

"Oh, g—" Tweek suddenly shakes and squints his eyes.

"Still cured I see, CT," Eric comments.

Stan raises a hand.

"CS?"

"Why can't we sleep there overnight, Commissioner?"

"Because Hogs ask too many questions. Questions are a burden to others; answers a prison for oneself. And because they are Hogs, you'll need a Shore Story, or: Shore Tale Under Possible Inspired Duress. Tell them as little as possible and praise Ranch Seasoning. Hogs are always trying to ruin the fun of is children; don't let them wreck Kyle this."

Clyde raises a hand.

"Child Clyde?"

"Kenny and I have finished picking up trash and loos debris."

"Excellent. Then you two are on flower power detail. I'll provide you two with a layout and where I want flowers planted. C.O.P. butters, go get the seeds from the storage shed. In three weeks Hogs will be here to look over the place and I want the exterior to look pleasant and inviting. Anything further and C.O.P. Butters will handle it. I've got to go back Kyle to making Myentology breakthroughs!" Eric disappears back Kyle into this shack Kyle.

"Charlie Brown was lucky; he only got _one_ rock Kyle," says Kyle.

Stan and Kyle head out to fetch more rock Kyles from the lake.

Butters returns.

"Here are the seeds and the map. It's color-coded so you know which seeds go where."

Kenny and Clyde take the items and head out.

"You know, Kenny, I have another theory."

"You don't say…" says Kenny.

"There's a secret floral starchamber where they continue to have advertisers sell you on buying roses, then grow under demand to make them more valuable. Have you ever smelled a rose? It's not that great; Frabreeze is _way_ better. And they're all thorny and shit. I think that was God's way of saying: Don't touch me. Plus, they're the color of blood."

"Actually … that might be plausible," says Kenny.

"Excellent – I've been Frakes'd. All I needed was the flimsiest of validations. Now I feel renewed and ready to create wilder more far-fetched conspiracies."

.

Later that day during post manning. Kyle and Stand are in the kitchen preparing some food to get ahead of Friday's meal service. Eric enter.

"So, how are you two Student Cretans doing?"

Kyle answers back Kyle, "Much better off our feet and out of the sun, Commissioner."

"Yeah, Commissioner, it's nice to get ahead," says Stan.

"Heh heh heh," Eric chuckles in a low voice.

"What? Asks Stan.

"Nothing, just thought of something funny."

"It was that 'ahead' part, wasn't it, Commissioner?" Kyle asks.

"Yeah, that was it. Anyway, more good news: Since there are no studies, you can get even more ahead on breakfast and dinner prep! Carry on. Oh, and since you two have worked so especially hard, I've paid Timmy to come taxi you to your houses. Bye."

"Wow, I've never seen Eric so selfless. Maybe the real training will be well worth it."

"At least all this work today means we're going to get really, really, _really_ ahead. I guess hard work is its own reward just as mom said."

.

All the kids come stumbling into the Dumpings shortly before six.

"Gotta hurry up and wash my hands so I can put my clothes on; Timmy may be waiting right now!" says Kyle excitedly.

"Hey, there's a note on my pillow," Stan says to Kyle.

Kyle looks at his bed, too, "And a note on mine," he then looks around, "and everyone else's pillow."

Stand reads it aloud as other kids mutter it as well, "Dear Cretans: Please ask your parents for a donation. The book forward is not enough to keep Ranch Seasoning funded for the month. Sincerely, E.T.C.."

"Well, we do have to eat and wash cloths," says Kyle.

They head to the water faucet outside to wash their hands.

.

Kenny arrives home, back Kyle in his orange suit with hood pulled tightly.

"Hey mom, hey dad."

"Where have you been?" his mom asks pissed off.

"Ranch Seasoning, remember?"

"Oh."

With no further comments from his parents after several seconds, Kenny simply says, "Gonna shower," and heads off.

.

Kyle enters his home.

"Oh, Kyle bubala, how are y-"

"Can't talk now; got use a real shower with hot water and then soak my hands in Aloe Vera for three hours…" his voices trails off as he runs upstairs.

"Oh, goodness, Gerald, no hot water? What kind of place is this?"

"Oh, that's nothing. Cold water is all my dad had; back Kyle then you were lucky to even have in-door plumbing. Why, I remember having to shower at the YMCA for a short period. A cold shower builds character; reminds you of what you take for granted."

"I guess. When was the last time _you_ took a cold shower?"

"Oh, I don't need to take cold showers; I already have the memory ingrained," Gerald says and then sips some tea.

.

Stan arrives home.

"Hey, I'm home!"

"Oh, Stan!" Sharon comes running out of the kitchen and hugs him.

"I love you, too," he says.

"Randy!"

"I'm taking a shit, Sharon!" we hear his muffled voice.

"He's in the can. How long are you going to be here?" asks Sharon.

"Just three hours. Enough time to eat, shower, and talk a little."

"Come on, I'll make you something. I've only been cooking two portions while you were gone. How about a frozen pizza?"

"That's cool. Do you have _two_ of them?"

.

Kyle comes downstairs and head into the kitchen.

"Are you Zest fully clean, Kyle, son?"

"More Spring-time fresh than my toilet bowl," he says and sits at the table.

"So, Kyle, tell us what you do over at Ranch Seasoning," she serves him some food.

"I … work and study. A lot."

"See, honey, he's developing a good work ethic. What kind of work?" Gerald asks.

"Ahhh, cleaning and cooking."

"A little hard work never killed anyone," Gerald says.

"Who was that film composer who died mowing his own lawn? Kyle asks.

"And it builds muscles," says Gerald.

"Oh, goodness, son, maybe when you're done training you could cook for us!" says Sheila.

"Ah, yeah," he says a little nervously, leaving out intentionally what they eat.

"So, tell us what you're studying," she asks and she sits down and prepares to eat. "Let us say grace first. Dear Lord, we are thankful for the bounty of yours we're about to receive. And we're thankful for having Kyle home however briefly. And thank you for this Myentology thing. Amen."

"they both says "Amen" with her.

"Go on, Kyle," says Sheila.

"Well … ahhh … oh – right now we're reading a contemporary literature classic – _'The Bridges of Madison County'_ ; they made a movie based on it."

"Oh, I saw that film. I love Clint Eastwood. So, I guess the book is better than the film, yes?" Sheila asks.

"…sure."

"So, is there an over-arching goal of all this learning?" Gerald asks.

"Yesss. We're going Somewhere," Kyle continues wolfing down food as he replies.

"Sounds like a pretty strict regimen," says Gerald.

"You could say the time is structured like school."

"Interesting. I may have to stop by and visit to see how things are going. I wonder how your friend affords to run that place," says Gerald.

"Yeah, about that. E.T.C., I mean, Eric, used his book advance, but it's not enough to keep the place running, so he's seeking donations."

"Well, there's nothing unreasonable about that. How much?" asks Sheila.

"No amount specified," Kyle replies.

"How about five dollars, honey? Gerald asks Sheila.

"That's fine by me. That was going to be your allowance for a week of chores, but since you're not here to do them, it might as well go to a good cause that's bettering you."

"…nifty," says Kyle.

Gerald pulls out his wallet and takes out and hands Kyle money, which Kyle pockets.

"So, will you be visiting us often?" Sheila asks.

"Every Thursday at the same time for three hours."

Gerald says, "You know, I will stop by. Tel your friend I'll come by Saturday at about one."

"Okay."

"And you should go on social media and tell other kids about, before you leave," Gerald says to Kyle.

"Okay."

"Sounds like they should be able to experience this with you," says Sheila.

"I guess. This smooth harmless fork is making my hand bleed again," says Kyle.

.

The next morning. It's early morning before the sun has risen, though the glow of the approaching direct light fills the sky and air with a warm orange-colored hue. We hear the classical music piece "Spring" from _The Four Seasons_ by Vivaldi play as birds chirp, rabbits frolic, and a bear shits in the woods.

On his mattress, Kyle slumbers peacefully, with his hands in rubber gloves filled with Aloe Vera.

 _ **HHHUUUAAAAA!**_ An air horn blows.

.

Lined up for inspection amongst the other kids, Kyle and Stan stare out wide-eyed.

Eric exits his shack Kyle.

"E.T.C. on deck Kyle!" Butters yells.

"Thank you, C.O.P. Butters. I am nothing if not benevolent, so given that last night was Shore Leave, I will give you all a pass on inspection. This morning. I assume everybody asked for donations, so line up to give to our Servicing Our Reserve Entitlement."

They all line up. Eric sits behind the desk he signed then up from originally. On the desk in a big square box.

Butters, first in line, walks up.

"Fold up the bill width wise into a rectangle and place it down next to the closed square lid on the box," says Eric.

Butters does so. A gear can be heard moving and the lid slowly opens, and a plastic off-white arm with a hand emerges, stops on the bill and quickly yanks it into the box, with the lid whacking shut.

"Wow, five dollars. Good work, Butters," Eric pats Butters on the back Kyle, "Next."

Stan comes up next and repeats the process, then gets back Kyle into the lineup, awaiting further instructions. Kyle steps up next.

"Child Kyle, how much have you brought us this week?"

"Three dollars – this week's allowance."

"Good work. You heard what to do."

Kyle gives the box hand the money and Eric pats him on the back Kyle. Kyle then walks over to Stan.

"Three dollars?" Stan whispers to Kyle, already knowing how much Kyle really got from his parents.

About ten minutes later, all the kids are back Kyle in line. Butters hauls the box into Eric's office, after Eric has the kids face away from it.

"Good job, Cretans. Any questions or comments while C.O.P. Butters puts the S.O.R.E. box away?"

Kyle raises a hand.

"Child Kyle?"

"My dad says he's going to visit Saturday at one to check the place out, Commissioner."

Eric looks a little paniChild Kyleed, but quickly regains composure, "Thanks for the early-warning Hog alert, Child Kyle. All right, everybody where they were yesterday," he adds as Butters enters the lineup.

Suddenly an old small BW van drives up and parks. A man steps out.

"Yeah, man, is this like the Ranch Seasoning place?"

Eric steps forward, "Yes, sir, it is. I'm the founder, Commissioner Cartman. How can I help you?"

The man slides open the side door and motions for a little white girl to get out. She hops down from the van. The man hands her a back pack.

"I, like, you know, read about this place on social media and want my little flower to join."

"Excellent; there's always room for more."

"Cool, thanks," he goes back Kyle into the van and shuts the door. "Bye, honey!"

A woman with paint on her face and a flower in her hair in the passenger seat yells out, too, "Bye, sweetie!"

The van drives off quickly.

The man says to the woman, "Awesome! Now we can smoke pit and walk around naked all day!"

"And join a cult!" the woman adds.

"That, too!"

They high five.

"Welcome, Cretan. What's your name? butters, a contract and a pen."

Butters walks off to the shack Kyle.

"Breanna Malkovitch."

"Well, Child Breanna, I'm E.T.C., though you can call me Commissioner. Failure to do so is one demerit in your Tattle folder," he sits back Kyle down at the table; Butters places a contract and the pen down. "Okay, I just need you to sign this agreement binding your Cretan to us for a bazillion years."

She just blinks.

.

About three hours later. Kyle and Stan sit in the kitchen peeling potatoes. The door opens and Eric walks in with Breanna.

"And this is the kitchen, Child Breanna," he then speaks to Kyle and Stan, "I caught her up some on the basics. Now, being that she's a girl, I've decided to utilize her feminine talents by putting her in her natural habitat: the kitchen. Well, carry on," Eric then leaves.

"Ah, so what can I help you guys with?" she asks them.

Stan says, "The bags marked 'mystery much'; dump one bag into each large cooking pot. Add some salt and water, then you can help us peel some potatoes."

"Yeah, we're already ahead for Sunday and Monday; we figure we can get ahead for Tuesday as well and not have to work as much those days," says Kyle.

.

Later that night; they all sit in the final study block of the day. They all read aloud from _'The Bridges of Madison County'_.

"And slowly – rolling and turning in adagio, in adagio always – ice-man falls … from Dimension Z … and into her," all of them say together.

Breanna looks at Kyle and mouths, "What?"; Kyle just shrugs his shoulders.

.

Saturday morning. Kyle tosses and turns as he sleeps. A view of his face moves closer and closer as we hear him mutter, "No … no … no…"

We cut to inside Kyle's dream; Kyle sits in a chair alone. Behind an abnormally high desk is Butters – dressed in a Judge's robe and wig of white curls.

"…and you've been found guilty of keeping two dollars."

"No…"

"And I bet you think my wig is funny looking, too."

"Ahhh … nooooo…"

"Blasphemy! And finally, you've been found guilty of the most heinous crime of them all: not liking my little piccolo!"

"No!" looking up at butters.

"How does the jury find the defendant?"

Kyle looks over and the view quickly shifts to Eric sitting alone playing a video game on an iPhone, "Totally guilty," he says without looking up.

The view quickly shifts up to Butters, "Kyle Brotlovsy … Bratlotski … Brof…"

"Broflovski."

"Yeah, that. You've been found guilty by a jury of your peer. I sentence you to…"

" _No!_ "

Butters reaches over for an air horn where his gabble would be, "Air horn!"

"NO!"

Butters picks up the air horn and just about as Kyle is about to get blasted, he wakes up before Judge Butters can do it.

Kyle wakes up peacefully to the sound of the classical piece "Morning song" by Edward Grieg. Eric nudges Kyle gently.

"Kyle … Kyle … good morning, Kyle."

Kyle sits up and sees it's brighter outside than normal.

"Good morning," says Kyle.

"Commissioner. One demerit."

Kyle looks around to see other kids awake.

"What time is it?" Kyle asks Stan.

"He told me seven. Still have to line up for inspection though."

"I wonder what's up," Kyle says aloud.

.

Thirty minutes later they are all standing in line for inspection. Eric walks out of his shack Kyle.

"C on deck Kyle!" Butters yells.

"Thank you. Today is a special day, so I've decided to let all you Cretans sleep in. Today will be a little different from normal days. I have special assignments for all of you. C.O.P. Butters, come hither."

"Hither?" Butters asks.

"It means _come here_. One demerit."

Butters walks over besides Eric.

"This is a whistle. On loan from the school life guard. Even though Child Kyle's dad is visiting, we must never forget he comes from a family of Hogs. So, when C.O.P. Butters blows the whistle once, hide any potentially dangerous cleaning materials of instruments you are using; if you can't, leave then and hide. When you hear two blows of the whistle, it's safe to come out and continue working. Child Kenny and Child Clyde, you'll be planting and then pruning Bonsai trees. The first three of you will be putting pine straw around all the trees. Another three of you will be using Oxi Clean to clean wood that isn't cracked and rotted away. The rest of you, except Child Stan and Child Kyle, will be removing and replacing wooden planks inside and out of the sheds – except mine – and using industrial-strength cleaners to get the old tub, sink, toilet and kitchen sink/surfaces clean. See the supply shed and Butters for details. Dismissed."

Everyone, but Stand and Kyle, disperse.

"I have an extra-special task for you two…" says Eric.

.

As Kenny and Clyde are at the start of digging holes, Eric leads Stan and Kyle to them; Stand and Kyle are holding long-width plastic rakes.

"After each bonsai tree is planted and trees based with pine straw are done, I want you two to go around them in circles over and over again until you have formed perfect circles in the sand. Then form perfect squares around each shack Kyle until Butters tells you to stop. Now I must go prepare for the Hog's arrival. Happy rake trails to you," and with that, Eric waddles off at a fast pace.

Stan finally speaks up after Eric is out of sight, "Okay … why are we going this?"

"I saw this in some movie once with Buddhist monks. I think it's some sort of technique for centering yourself. This may be a way of getting through our P.E.S.T. work more quickly."

"I guess…" says Stan.

.

Butters walks up to Clyde and Kenny, who are digging holes.

"Hey, guys, fresh nummy Oval-thal's to cure what ails you," says Butters.

"Ohhh … goodie," Clyde says, taking one of the cups.

" _ **Butters!**_ " we hear Eric yell as he runs over. " _ **Butters!**_ " he yells again.

"Yes, dear Commissioner?"

"C.O.P. Butters, your presence is required urgently," he grabs Butters by a hand and drags him off.

"I have another theory," Clyde says after drinking some Oval-thal," I think _'A Christmas Story'_ was nothing more than an attempt to insure future generations of shoppers knew what Ovaltine was."

.

Eric stops behind some trees and lets go of Butters.

"What's up, Eric?"

"Butters, isn't Kyle's dad a lawyer?"

"Yeah, for the city council, as I recall. He defended you in court while Sexual Harassment Panda was there, remember? You told me about it, since I wasn't there."

"Shit – what if Kyle complained and he's here to look things over for a lawsuit?"

"Oh, goodness, I hope not!" Butters says.

"That's right, Butters. You know what's at stake here; what's on the line. Butters … think good thoughts."


	5. Chapter 5

Gerald pulls up just a few minutes after one in the afternoon. He sees Kyle and Stan raking in circles. He shuts the SUV off and exits it. He sees kids putting hay around trees and others digging holes.

"Ah, so peaceful and serene out here."

"Hey, dad!" Kyle calls out, momentarily halting his raking.

Eric huffs and puffs as he waddle-runs over; Butters hangs back some.

"Mr. Marsh," Eric says as soon as he reaches him

"Hello, Eric."

"Commissioner."

"So, this is the Ranch Seasoning place I've heard about."

"Yes, sir, Ranch Seasoning is the premiere training ground for Myentologists."

"It's looking good. I heard good things about it."

"Thank you, Mr. Marsh. Ranch Seasoning is made possible with donations from charitable parents like you."

"Kyle, son, what are you learning now?"

"Gravel raking."

"What Child Kyle means is that he is learning P.E.S.T. work; a scheme where you manage person, energy, space, and time. Raking circles is loose sandy gravel may look on its face to be a huge waste of time that could be better spent reading books from the greatest thinkers of all time, from Socrates to Jon Lott, but in reality the children are becoming better P.E.S.T.'s who can then help other non-Myentologists."

"Good. So, how about a tour?" Gerald asks Eric.

"Ah, a tour?"

"Yeah, to check out the place my son is bettering himself in."

"Yeah," Eric says a little nervously, "of course," he motions for Butters to go on ahead. "Right this way, Mr. Brolovski."

Kenny and Clyde continue digging holes.

Clyde speaks, "I have a theory: the only reason they keep making and selling shovels – even though digging machines are cheaper than ever before and readily attainable – is that the _Powers that Be_ want us to keep looking at the ground so we don't spot the flying lizard people's alien vessels passing in the sky."

Kenny looks at him funny.

"Too much? The shovels or the lizard people?"

.

Eric, Gerald, and Butters approach a shed.

"This is the study shed," Eric motions. Butters then blows the whistle once.

Eric opens the door and lets Gerald in first. He sees a couple of kids sweeping the floor.

Eric comments, "Here wannabe Myentologists learn about Myentology."

"So, how far along are they on learning about it?"

"Oh, I'm still prepping them to grasp the concepts, by having then read _'The Bridges of Madison County'_. They do it in these good hard posture-correcting desks." He knocks on the top of one.

"I don't see any air conditioning."

"Mr. Broflovski, they didn't have air conditioning in 1895 and yet the children were pretty smart back then; have you read the eighth-grade final exam from Salina, Kansas? We're both pretty smart and neither of us could pass that."

"I see your point. Gosh, these desks must be antiques. Look – there's some old writing on it. Bill was here."

"It's character."

Gerald reads more on the desk, "O Lord smite the turncoats."

"Lots of character."

"It's a good use of money. Donations can be put toward more important areas," says Gerald.

"Come, I'll show you the housing barn."

As they walk out, Butters blows the whistle twice.

"Say, what's the whistling for?" Gerald asks Butters.

"Oh, me? Why, ah, I'm just practicing my whistling."

"Okay."

.

As they near the Dumpings, Butters blows the whistle once. Again Eric opens the door to let Gerald in first. Gerald looks around; there are no kids in there.

"Are these mattresses clean? They look like used ones."

"They are used. And yes, they are clean. I let Stan's uncle Jimbo use the shacks and land for hunting for a couple weeks and in return he used his steam cleaner to clean the mattresses."

"Do they get enough sleep?"

"They're allotted a generous nine hours every night," Eric replies.

"Wow. Between my marriage, kids and work, I'm lucky to get nine hours."

"Yep – I'm a giver."

"Why are some of these boards clean and other dirty?" Gerald asks, looking around.

"Oh, Butters and I have been scrubbing them with Oxi Clean, but the constant forward progress of my research into bettering Myentology often leave time to do such leaning sparse. My motto is: Up, up and to infinity and away."

"Cleanliness in next to Godliness," Gerald comments.

"Maybe next we'll go see the kitchen barn."

Butters notes Eric's comment as they leave the shed. Butters blows the whistle twice; Gerald looks at him.

"Practice makes perfect," Butters says, then he runs on ahead.

After about thirty second of being out of the Dumpings, wooden planks suddenly fall of parts of the walls and kids pant and moan from propping up planks in place of holes where rotted wood had been but new planks not yet put into place.

.

As they approach the barn, Eric nods lightly to himself when he sees the door open.

Eric and Gerald enter and find kids rubbing hard with used cloths Barkeeper's Friend – steel formula – on the troughs.

"This is the dining area where children eat Michelle Obahma-approved meals."

"On the floor? From a trough?"

"Mr. Broflovski, a million Chinese kids eat sitting on the floor every day, and they're smart enough to ace that 1895 test in their sleep; what works for them, works for us."

"Hum" Gerald rubs his chin, "You know, I never thought of it that way."

"And the troughs are nothing more than another cost-cutting measure. Think of it like those urinal fountains at football stadiums; you don't _want_ to see two dozen other dudes peeing from their dicks at the same time, but it saves the stadium owners money."

"If it saves money, I guess that's okay. I still smell cleaner but I don't see any kids working. Eric – are you trying to hide something?"

"No, of course not."

"'cause child labor laws are different for faith-based organizations."

"They are?" Eric asks, surprised.

"Yes. It's not like regular laws where you have to be at least 16 and can only work part time. Your organization can use younger people; you just need to make sure they can do what you assign them without danger of injury."

"Organization?"

"You are a registered 501(c) faith-based non-profit organization, aren't you?"

"Ah, sure," Eric says, not even knowing what it is.

"'cause you won't have to pay any property taxes or Federal taxes. It's a 501(c) exemption."

"Oh. I guess I was confused."

"I can help you set that up Monday when my office opens."

"Thank you, Mr. Broflovski."

"You know, Eric, I really believe in what you're doing here."

"You do?"

"Oh, yes, especially all the parents who get their kids out of the house for the Summer."

"Thank you," Eric then chuckles, "I thought you might come here to find something to use me over."

"Nah, I get enough lawsuits handed to me; I don't need to go looking for them. Though I'd take the case of any kid here who come to me with something actionable."

They both laugh together.

"No, seriously – I would bury you."

"Understood. Hold on a second…" Eric goes outside and looks at Butters; he then tugs down twice on an imaginary train whistle chain. Butters then blows the whistle twice. All the kids go back to what they were going.

Gerald looks around and suddenly sees kids that seconds ago weren't there.

"Okay, so continue about your work with the cautious safety-minded ethic as you were," Eric says to the kids.

"I got bleach in my eye," a random kids says.

"Did he just say he got bleach in his eye?" Gerald asks Eric.

"No, he said he got _birch_ in his eye; it's the type of tree these new wooden planks are made from. Must be some loose saw dust on them.

"Hum."

.

Later that day. All the kids sit in the final study block of the day, waiting for it to begin. Eric finally shows up. He lays a cheap briefcase on his desk and opens it; he takes out a stack of papers and counts out sheets for each row of kids.

"Take one and pass it back," he then goes back to his desk and sits down in his comfy office chair that has box-cutter slashes on it from being discarded from an office supply store. "Now, tomorrow we'll start learning Myentology and scale back on _'The Bridges of Madison County'_. In order to make sure you're successfully absorbing the material, each day you'll have to fill out and graph a The Parroting Schooling report. These will help you better understand where you need improvement. And if you could then just turn your T.P.S. reports into Butters, that would be great. Yes, Child Kyle?" seeing Kyle raise a hand.

"So, this is just a sample? We don't have to fill it out today, right Commissioner?"

"Correct. Now, open your copies of _The Bridges of Madison County'_ and repeat after me: The leopard swept over her, again and again and yet again, like some long prairie wind, and rolling beneath him, she rode on that wind like some temple virgin toward the sweet, compliant fires marking the soft curve of oblivion."

Breanna raises a hand.

"Yes, Child Breanna?"

"Ah, Commissioner, I don't think that's how proper sentence structure works."

"Have you written a best-selling book translated into a major motion picture starring Clint Eastwood?"

"N, Commissioner."

"All right then, temple virgin wannabe, keep reading."

.

Tuesday morning – eight days into Ranch Seasoning training. The boys wake up to the sound of Reveille being played on a cheap-sounding trumpet. When they go outside they see more children with a couple cars pulling up and dropping off kids.

Butters finishes playing Reveille – poorly – and yells, " _C on deck!_ "

Eric exits his shack, "Butters, don't' make me call Malcolm McNab – he'll kick your ass."

"This sucks," says Craig.

Eric says to him, "Shut up, Craig. You're all here because either you saw my Youtube _Fartenetics_ testimonial videos, or your parents want you Cretans to be better people. I can be a good guy or I can be a real mean son of a bitch. It's up to you. Here at Ranch Seasoning, my word is _law_ ," he then sits at the sign up desk, "Now, form a line to sign up for the Puddle Org under Myentology," he sets the pen down next to a stack of contracts, "Ah, Wendy, welcome to Ranch Seasoning. What made you decide to join?"

"My unofficial boyfriend is here and I'm bored."

"Wat ever works for you. I just need you to sign this agreement binding your Cretan to use for a bazillion years."

What's a Cretan?" Wendy asks.

.

The kids exit the meal barn from having breakfast.

"Hey, Stan," says Wendy.

"Hey, Wendy."

"Where are the bathrooms?" she asks.

"Bathrooms? Oh, you mean the holes," he then points to a large cluster of bushes.

Wendy look over at them.

"You'll need to sign out toilet paper from C.O.P. Butters," Stan says to her.

.

After a couple of minutes or so, Wendy nears the bushes, holding the toilet paper.

"Don't steal the roll…" she mutters in an annoyed voice.

She stops. In front of her are three metal five-gallon buckets buried in the ground with about two inches sticking out. She pulls a lid off one and finds it half-way filled with water; an aroma of Mr. Clean emanates from it. She sees a wooden sign with white stenciled lettering on it; she reads it aloud, "Be Kind, Please Rewind the Lid."

.

Kenny and Clyde scatter fertilizer on the ground in a flower bed area.

"I got a theory…"

"You don't say."

"I think compost companies call shit _fertilizer_ instead of _shit_ because they know they can package and sell shit that everybody makes for free."

"And…" Kenny plays along, "they're in cahoots with flush-toilet companies who are in bed with waterworks in every county in the country to charge you to flush your valuable self-generated fertilizer away."

"Whoa!" Clyde stops working, "My mind … is blown."

.

Butters walks around handing out Oval-thals; he walks up to Stand and Kyle as they carry rocks from the river.

"Hey, guys, how it's going?"

"Slow," says Stan.

"We think in a few days we'll have met the amount specified by Commissioner," says Kyle.

"Good, then you'll be done," says Butters.

"Finally," Satan comments.

"With step one of the rock project," Butters adds.

"Oh good … there's more," Stan says with some sarcasm.

"Then you'll get to step two: cleaning them. But that probably won't take as long."

"Well, there's that," says Kyle.

"And in between, you'll be stacking them up like a wall and cementing them together."

"Joy," says Stan.

"Think of it as work experience. Maybe one day as a result of this you'll have a wall-building business," says Kyle to Stan.

Eric walks over.

"C.O.P. Butters, I'm temporarily re-assigning you."

"But, ah, who will Boner everyone?"

"They'll just have to Boner themselves. One demerit. Come with me."

Eric leads Butters to a small wooden shack. In front of it are building supplies and a couple of small ladders.

"Okay, put a tool belt on and climb up."

"What are we doing, Commissioner?"

"Re-roofing and fixing this shed."

"E.T.C., isn't this an extra-wide outhouse?"

"Not anymore. Now it's the Cartman Organization Center, or _C.O.C._. This is where the copyrights and other important information Kyle's dad helped me fill out yesterday, will be held. That way, if he has to come here to see or work on any of it, he doesn't go into my shed. We both know how imperative it is nobody but you and I go into there…"

.

Gerald pulls away a pair of binoculars and sets them on the passenger seat of his SUV that he has parked off some ways from Ranch Seasoning, behind some light forest.

"…it is nobody but you and I go into there. Well, Eric Cartman, I wonder indeed what is in there. Indeed I wonder…"

We hear lower-octave cello bass and brass for a menacing musical highlight, which is suddenly interrupted by his cellphone ringing. He fishes it out of his pocket and looks at the number before answering.

"Hello, honey, what's up?"

"Gerald, honey, can you pick me up another extra-large box of tampons? Remember: the super absorbent ones."

"Yes, honey."


	6. Chapter 6

Eric and butters hammer nails into new wooden planks they have put on the roof.

"Aren't I a little young to be a roofer, Commissioner?"

"No. If you think that, clearly something must be wrong with you."

"Oh. Like what, Commissioner?"

"Clearly your Cretan is harboring many O/H's. You'll need a lengthy Analyzing. Yep, a deep RotoRooter-style Analyzing."

"Oh, gosh."

.

Kyle and Stan carry rocks over to the pile. Wendy sees Stan and goes toward him, as she carries a bucket of warm water from the kitchen, a tub of Oxi Clean and a scrub brush with a pole."

"Hey, Stan," she says to him.

"Hey, Wendy."

"Aren't you looking all manly and rugged today."

"Thanks, I guess. Though I'll have to look up _rugged_."

"Keep up the sweaty manly work," she leans in and kisses his forehead.

Craig, using a wheel barrow to carry away old wooden planks, sees her kiss Stan.

.

Eric and Butters tar and shingle the outhouse roof.

"You're making it too thick; spread it out, Butters."

"Ah, why am I doing all this hard labor again, Commissioner?"

"God, I already told you, Butters – so you don't become a criminal."

"But I don't feel like stealing anything, Commissioner."

" _Today_. But who knows what kind of deceptive klepto' you might become tomorrow. Just stay on the Bridge to Somewhere."

"But, this is a ladder, Commissioner."

"Sometimes the Bridge to Somewhere looks like a ladder. And in about an hour it will look like the floor of an outhouse."

.

Stan and Kyle work in the kitchen.

"Because of all these new kids, all that preparation we did to get ahead has been lost," says Kyle.

"I'm beginning to hate potatoes. More than celery. How's the mystery mash going, Breanna?" Stan asks.

"It's coming along. I may hurl."

"Probably just as good," Stan quietly says to Kyle.

The door opens. They look over expecting Eric, but instead see Wendy.

"Wendy, what are you doing here?" asks Kyle.

"E.T.C. said since I'm a woman, I belonged in the kitchen."

"Oh," Kyle says.

"Why are _you_ guys in here?" Wendy asks.

"Ah…" says Kyle.

"Ah…" says Stan.

"So, what do you need help with?" Wendy asks.

"Potato peeling," says Kyle.

.

1:45 pm – the first study block of the day. All the kids sit in a now very crampt room, with some sitting on upside down buckets and sharing a desk top with another student. Eric walks in.

"Okay, welcome new Cretans. Just so there's no confusion, you will all address me as either E.T.C. or Commissioner. With so many girls now here at Ranch Seasoning, I think it's time for a reminder on demerit offenses involving the sexes. I speak of O/H's – Overts and Holdbacks. Overts are sins you have committed. No 2B – second base, or 3B – third base. Remember – I and C.O.P. Butters will be on the lookout for your O/H faces. Those who report offenses will earn one demerit removal from your Tattle file. If you see something, say something. Now," Eric walks behind his desk and sits, "Today we begin delving into Myentology principles. At the basic core, as you know, is to help people clear the Cretans from themselves, to fully Translucate them. They are the great Hog unwashed. Can anybody tell me what the number one problem is when dealing with Cretan Hogs? Yes, Wendy?"

"They're Hogs, E.T.C.?"

"No, Child Wendy. Communication is the problem. You cannot effectively communicate with Hogs until you learn what the words you are saying mean. That's why using Word Hurdling, you'll be learning what even simple every day words mean. Today we'll start with a simple one: _is_."

"But, don't we all already know what _is_ means, Commish?" asks Kenny.

"Yes and no, it depends on what your definition of _is_ is."

"Oh, gee wiz," says Butters.

"And so we'll be spending the next few hours studying and practicing all possible uses of the word _is_."

.

Wendy kneels beside Kyle at the square trough as Stan finishes putting food out and Butters pours mystery mush into the trough on their side.

"What is mystery mush?" Wendy asks.

"Throw-up yellow with red and green bits," Kyle replies.

"No, really – what is it?" Wendy asks again.

"I don't know," says Kyle.

"It's probably better we don't," says Stan.

"It's a mystery," says Kenny.

"Well, if I should give you a kiss on the cheek later," she says in a low voice, "I might get green and red bits on you," Wendy says to Stan.

Craig, pretending not to be looking, continues eating – having seen the whole exchange.

"What do you suppose our parents are doing right now?" Kyle asks them.

"I don't know," says Stan.

Clyde speaks, "Hey – stop talking with your mouths full; what do you think we are – pigs?"

.

CUT TO: Around two dozen parents dance and party to the song "Macarena".

"This is awesome; we should pawn off our kids to some organization every year!" Randy exclaims.

"Yeah!" Sharon shouts.

Randy continues speaking, "Can you believe Stan said this song was totally gay? Well, if this song is totally gay, then _I'm_ totally gay!"

"Oh, Gerald – I'm feeling sensations in dormant parts of my womanhood and my hips are involuntarily undulating!" says Sheila.

"Don't be afraid of a little new excitement honey! But don't over exert yourself."

"Heyyyyy Macarena," says Ned.

"Who'd like to have an orgy?! Yeah!" Liane blurts out while dancing with a stranger. Half the men shout excitedly.

"How much has she had to drink?" Jimbo asks the bartender.

The bartender looks at a bottle on the bar counter, "Half a Fresca."

"Oh. Make sure she finishes that Fresca," Jimbo then turns to Liane, "Me! Me! Pick me!"

.

Later that night during the final study block.

"Okay, I think that's enough word studying for tonight. Everybody go ahead and full out your T.P.S. reports," says Eric.

"Oh boy – T.P.S.!" Butters exclaims.

"Except you, Butters. Please come with me," says Eric.

"Yes, Commissioner."

Eric leads Butters outside and to a shed no one has yet been in. Eric opens the door to the dark and dank shed. He reaches up and pulls a metal-beaded chain that turns on a battery-operated ceiling light. As Eric closes the entrance door, Butters notes a closed door inside that shack with the words "DO NOT ENTER" painted on it in white.

"Sit down, Butters."

Butters sits in a chair that is facing another old rickety wooden chair that Eric then sits in.

"I am Analyzing you."

"Okay," Butters responds.

"Are you hungry?" Eric asks.

"Well, yes, actually, but I'm a growing kid, so I'm always hungry."

"No, I mean _hungry_ hungry."

"Oh. Then no."

"Good. Is there any reason not to start this invasiveness?"

"No."

"Good. Are you now or have you ever been a communist?"

"No," says Butters.

"Good. Have you or any of your family ever been diagnosed schizophrenic?"

"I don't know about my family."

"Yes or no."

"Ahhh … no."

"Good. Are you habitually using drugs?"

"No."

"Good. Are you, Butters, menstruating right now?"

"Nnnooo…" Butters trails off, not sure what the word even means.

"Good. Well, then is it something about roofing?"

"I'm not a roofer, but I don't have anything against it."

"Good enough. Are you maybe holding back any Overts or Holdbacks?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Are you really _really_ sure? Come on, Butters, let me see your O/H face."

"But I'm not holding back!"

"Don't be a N.a.D.S., because if you are, you're totally N.a.D.S.."

"I'm not – I pinky swear! What is this all about, Commissioner?"

"Butters, this is an atypical Analyzing; had it been the standard one, I would have used the S-Meter on you. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt because in less than three weeks, things are going to change. I'm going to need you to lead my team when that happens."

"What team?"

"In due course, Butters, all in due course. Now, let's go see how the T.P.S. reports are doing."

"Right O!" Butters exclaims and follows Eric out of the shed.

"And try to do something about that menstruating."

"Aye, aye!"

.

The children unwind, preparing to go to bed for the night in the even more compacted sleeping area.

As Kyle nears the mattress next to Stan, he's suddenly cut off by Wendy.

"Move it or lose it," he says to Stan.

"Hey, but that's my mattress."

"I don't see your name on it."

"Well … Kyle's my friend."

"And he's my on again, off again boyfriend; over ruled."

"Come lay on the mattress next to me; I'm your friend, too," Kenny says to Kyle.

"I know, it's just…"

"Hey, Stan," says Wendy.

"Hey, Wendy," Butters comes walking in.

"All right, can I have your attention, Student Cretans?" asks Butters.

They all hush up.

"Founding members already know what I'm going to say, but new members need to listen up: in order to better help calm your Cretan down and therefore help you sleep better, every night we do the Pull Assist System Scheme, or P.A.S.S.; I'll demonstrate," Butters walks over to Craig – who has taken the second mattress (since the first is marked off for Butters). He touches Craig on an arm, "Can you feel that?"

Craig looks up at him, "Why are you touching me?"

"This is how P.A.S.S. works."

"Then I take a pass," says Craig.

"You can't; you'll get a bad-night's sleep and a demerit each time. Someone has to touch you and you have to touch the person next to you."

Craig looks over and see Clyde on the mattress next to him, "Perfect," he says with sarcasm, "Just what the rumor mill needed."

"Okay, so everybody just touch each other," says Butters.

"Can you feel that?" Craig asks apathetically.

"Yes," Clyde says back with just as much apathy.

This repeats from kid to kid.

Wendy reaches over to Kyle, "Can you feel that?"

"Whoa!" Kyle exclaims.

Stan looks over.

"Well, somebody's awfully sensitive tonight," says Butters, looking over.

"Yeah, I guess so…" Stan trails off.

Wendy giggles some, Clyde and Stan just look on confused, and others ignore then, except for Craig – who saw everything.

Once everyone is done, Butters walks over to each wall-mounted battery-operated circular dome light and presses each to turn them off.

"Wait a minute – nobody touched you, C.O.P. Butters," says Craig.

"It's just Butters after nine. And sure I have; when I touched you, I touched myself. Well, good night," he shuts the last light off.

Various kids giggle at Craig's expense. Craig sighs heavily, just glad that no cellphones, iPads or computers of any kind are allowed at Ranch Seasoning.


	7. Chapter 7

Thursday. Kids do what they were doing last Thursday, except new arrivals, who help prune trees of dead branches and leaves. Some kids prepare another bushy area for more toilet holes. Kenny and Clyde are still planting, but nearly finished.

"I have a theory, Kenny: theaters keep the floors of rooms sticky to collect shoe prints so local and state police as well as Federal agencies can compare them to a vast secret online shoe-print database. It's on off-shoot conspiracy based on the penny conspiracy."

"What if they don't go to the theater?" Kenny asks.

"Of course they'll go. Who do you think is seeing all these Godawful _Transformers_ movies, and prequels nobody asked for, and an endless stream of painfully unfunny Tyler Perry films? Criminals."

"Stupid people, too," Kenny adds.

"Well, that's just a combo like a hermaphrodite."

Craig and another kid walk by, dragging dead branches to the side of the road.

"God, is Clyde talking about hermaphrodites _again_?" Craig comments.

The kid replies, "You'd know more about that then I would."

"Hey," Craig shouts back. Craig spots Eric approaching; talking to each kid along the way. "Hey, I gotta go to the bathroom. Can you handle it while I go requisition toilet paper from the Commish? Since I don't see Barbrady 2.0 anywhere."

"Sure, but you carry the nest ones by yourself," the kid responds.

Craig approaches Eric; when he sees Eric in-between kids, he speeds up to catch him.

"Commish," Craig calls out.

"Ah, Child Craig. What takes you away from your P.E.S.T. work?"

"Remember when you said if we saw something, to say something, Commish?"

"Child Craig, if you flip me off and tell me you saw something, I'm going to tact on fifty demerits to your Tattle folder."

"No, no; I _have_ seen something," he says quietly to Eric.

"Oh … come with me."

.

Eric stands behind Craig – who has his pants down; Eric holds a roll of toilet paper.

"Is this really necessary?" Craig asks.

"You're the one who excused himself to the holes; now we have to keep the ruse up. Now, make it convincing; with that Cretan in you, you're crapping for two now."

"Could you not look at me while I'm squatting, Commish?"

"Less talking, more fake crapping Child Craig."

As Stan and Kyle carry food supplies down the ramp of the delivery truck, Kyle spots Kenny and Clyde pointing and looking over at the holes; Kyle looks as well.

"What's going on?" Kyle asks them.

"Looks like Craig is in trouble," Kenny replies.

"Better him than us," says Clyde.

Kyle comments, "Come on, Craig – take the high road…"

Craig turns around. Other kids stop and look at the spectacle.

"Guys, we all know what Craig does," says Stan.

"Just hold on; let's give him the benefit of the do-"

Kyle stops when Craig suddenly flips Eric off.

"Eeewwwww…" most of them exclaim in a low voice.

" _BUTTERS!_ " Eric screams loudly.

After a few seconds Butters comes running over. Eric is seen wildly gesturing and talking angrily. Craig takes the toilet paper and both stand there impatiently as Craig uses it. Finally, Butters escorts Craig away to the Dumpings. Eric walks up to the kids; they start working again.

"Attention, Cretans, Child Craig will not be going on Shore Leave today. Anybody attempting to help him out or bring him anything will lose Shore Leave privileges for two weeks. As you were – the ruffle is over."

.

Kyle, Stan, Breanna, and Wendy begin preparing some food for tomorrow's breakfast when Eric comes walking in.

"Child Wendy, I need you to clean the Dumpings. C.O.P. Butters will assist you."

"Yes, E.T.C.," she stops what she's doing and exits the kitchen.

"I'll assign you Cretans a replacement tomorrow. Remember to be Servicing Our Reserve entitlement when home."

.

Kenny and Clyde shake fresh soil onto he ground and rake it into the old soil, having finished planting.

"I have a theory, Kenny."

"Stop the presses…" Kenny says in a low voice.

"Seed-selling companies call these _Bonsai trees_ to make then sound exotic and different, but over in Japan they probably just call them 'trees' and are sick to fuck of looking at them. Maybe they're like weeds over there."

"What about all the other seeds they export?" Kenny asks.

"Lots of weed varieties."

"That is what Japan is known for – lots of weeds," Kenny says with sarcasm.

.

Eric stands and waits patiently as the last kids are picked up by parents for Shore Leave; all the others having walked on foot, picked up, and Stan and Kyle who arranged the prior week to be picked up by Timmy every Thursday at the same time. Once the vehicle is out of sight, Eric turns around and heads to the Dumpings. Inside, Butters and Craig chat as Eric enters.

"Craig," says Eric.

"Eric."

"Craig-"

"Eric," Craig interrupts.

"No, Craig, I was beginning my sentence."

"Oh."

"First of all, thank you for playing along with that ruse earlier. Now, you may be wondering what this is all about."

"Not especially."

"The thing is, Craig, things are going to be changing in two weeks, and when they do, I'll be needing more people like Butters; Cretans who will be Prominent Individuals Servicing the Scheme. Butters is taking the P.I.S.S. already. If you agree to be a part of it, you'll too be taking the P.I.S.S.."

"Does that mean I'll be a C.O.P., too?"

"No, C.O.P.s will be eliminated and replaced by a lower-rung position. You'd be above both, you'll enjoy certain perks and you'll get some authorita."

"Hum … I think I might enjoy taking the P.I.S.S., too. What do I have to do?"

"Aside from keeping this hush hush, just one thing: let me cure you of middlefingeritis."

Craig flips him off.

"Ay!"

.

Gerald pops his head out of a bush; on his face is green and black face paint. He stands up, covered in military camos, including a camo yamaka. He sneaks around quickly from bush to bush and tree to tree, making his way to Eric's shed; he looks around cautiously while humming the "Mission: Impossible" original series theme. Gerald runs up behind Eric's shed and examines it; finding no windows or holes, he skulks around the walls to the front door. He looks around the walls to the front door. He looks and sees an expensive lock on the door and a re-enforced frame. Gerald listens and heard a hum from behind the door.

"Curiouser and and curiouser … but no match for my little lock picking kit…"

He pulls a rolled up thing of assorted picks from his pocket and choses a couple of them. He brings them up to the lock and slides one in; he uses the other to jimmy it and suddenly a loud alarm goes off.

"Damnit," he exclaims and quickly tries to roll back up his lock picks.

What's that?" Craig asks.

Eric runs, "Butters, somebody's trying to break into my shed!"

Eric charges out the Dumpings at full ludicrous waddle speed. Gerald runs off into the surrounding forest.

"Come back here, _asshole_! So I can _shoot you in the nuts!_ "

"Commissioner, I think you'll catch more bees with honey than vinegar," says Butters.

"Right, right," Eric then yells, "Please come back so I can _shoot you in the nuts!_ "

Eric then dashes over to his shack to check it.

"Did he get in, Commissioner?"

Eric closes the door after using his key to open it, "No, the Hog didn't get in."

"I wonder what the guy wanted."

"Isn't it obvious, Butters?"

"Ah … no."

"The copyrights and paper work are in there temporarily until the C.O.C. unit is completed. The guy was wearing Army camouflage, Butters; the Military Industrial Complex is after my secrets."

"Ahhh … why?"

"how should I know? Yet there he was!" Eric says while pointing at the forest.

"Should I flip off the woods, Commish" Craig calls out.

"You're too late, Craig; you're like that comedy song _The Ballad of Irving_."

"Neat; is it about giving the bird?"

Eric sighs heavily, "We'll need someone to guard my shack and my C.O.C. unit until I can get protection for my C.O.C.."

"I got it: What if we put a giant condom over it?" Butters suggests.

"One for-real demerit," Eric replies.

"Ow…"

"Craig, how would you like to be taking the P.I.S.S. sooner?" Eric asks.

"I'm ready to stand and deliver," Craig replies.

.

Friday morning – the next day. Eric finishes patting the last kid on the back after turning over a donation to the box.

"Good job, Cretans; all of you must be feeling, like, S.O.R.E. right now. Child Kenny, tell your Hogs that Canadian pennies, buttons, metal slugs and Chucky Cheese tokens are not acceptable S.O.R.E. contributions."

"What about I.O.U.'s, E.T.C.? Kenny asks.

"No I.O.U.'s; they weren't acceptable to order crappy seen-on-TV products even in the 1980's. Now, you new S.C.U.M. have never seen the miracle of _Fartenetics_ at work live, so P.E.S.T. work will end half an hour early to give you time to clean up and use the holes and report to my shed; at such time you will witness a miracle on one of you…" Eric turns around and goes back into his shed.

Butters speaks, "Dear Commissioner has decided to pass you all for inspection die to S.O.R.E. efforts. Child Clyde, Child Kenny, since you are done plating seeds and bonsai trees, water them with Miracle Gro and start pruning dead leaves. After that, spray the leaves with a bottle of water and Epsom salt; it'll help the leaves absorb more sun and grow faster. After that, pull any new weeds. Let me know if you need anymore work."

"C.O.P. butters," says Kyle, raising a hand.

"Child Klye."

"We're done pulling rocks from the lake; everything else is pebbles."

"Good. Heat up pots of water until hot but not hot enough to burn you. Add coops of Oxi Clean and rocks and let them set for a couple of hours; then brush them clean and set them in the empty card board boxes outside. While you're waiting, you can clean the kitchen. Everybody else do what you were doing Wednesday, except Child Craig and Child Wendy. You two will be guarding the outside of Commissioner's shed, so report back to the Dumpings after breakfast for your special guard uniforms. Everybody get preppin' and report for breakfast at 8:30 as usual. Dismissed!"

Kyle, Stan, and Breanna immediately hurry to the feeding barn to prep and cook breakfast.

.

Craig and Wendy exit the Dumpings wearing red T-shirts with black pants, with the upper case letters R.C.M.P. in white on the front.

"Child Craig, Child Wendy, you now have the honor of guarding the Commissioner's private sanctum."

"Why?" asks Craig.

"Because somebody tried to break into it yesterday, remember?"

"Oh, I'm supposed to still care about that?" Craig asks.

"Child Craig, I'm going to pretend you didn't say that. You are both officially, during P.E.S.T. work, R.C.M.P.'s – Ranch Center Manning Personnel. These uniforms are only to be worn at these times, otherwise you have to change back into your kennies. You'll start six feet apart, three feet from the shed, and will have you back to it. At now time are you to turn around when the door is ajar or enter without Commissioner's expressed permission _each_ time. You'll eat breakfast after everyone else, that way there is always somebody outside to ward off any intruders."

.

The kids all kneel down before the square trough, eating their morning Grade-F gruel.

Where's Wendy?" Kenny asks Stan.

"Yeah, I don't see her at the trough anywhere," Kyle comments.

"I don't know," says Stan.

"Then can you asswipes move over and stop saving a space so the rest of us can have some elbow room?" Clyde blurts out.

"Sorry. Go head, Kenny," says Stan.

Kenny and other scoot over to fill the space.

"Hey, I don't see Craig either," says Kenny.

"Good – more gruel for the rest of us," says Clyde.

"Hum. I wonder if she's in trouble, but then I guess Craig would be in trouble, too," says Kyle.

"Even _more_ gruel for us," says Clyde.

"I just feel … it was nice having her here. It's lonely now. The only thing I have to brighten up my day now is the sun … while I clean rocks," says Stan.

"You gonna eat that gruel?" asks Clyde.

.

Hours later. All the kids stand patiently feet away from Eric's shed, except Butters and Craig who stand together and close, and Wendy who stands in her R.C.M.P. kennies.

"I can't believe my girls friend is Benton Fraiser," says Stan.

"Can you believe this? They actually pay people to do this in Canada," says Clyde.

Butters plays the old maritime three notes on his piccolo.

"Come to attention for dear Commissioner!"

The door then cracks open enough for Eric to come out but not let them see in.

"Welcome, to a miracle. A miracle all of you Cretans will behold. You shall all bare witness to _Fartenetics_ in action. Child Craig, you are known to have an … over-active middle finger."

"It does rise to attention more than an eighteen-year-old in a whore house, Commish."

"That's a … quaintly unique way of putting it," says Eric.

"I thought so, Commish."

"Well, no longer; prepare to be cured of you birdie by the power of _Fartenetics!_ Child Craig, I want you to not flip me off!"

Craig flips Eric off; some kids snicker.

"My finger slipped."

"That's just your reactionary mind at work; tell that finger to stop it _now!_ " he then backs up to Craig and pulls his pants and underwear down; Eric then farts on Craig.

"UGH!"

"It's okay, Child Craig, that's just the sound of _Fartenetics_ working. Now, I want you to picture you flipping your prime-verse self off; now tell that mirror universe NAZI Craig to cut it out _now!_ " he then farts on Craig again, this time with a loud choppy fart.

"I still feel the urge…"

"Crush that goatee-wearing mirror universe Golden Dawn party inner self; you are master and commander of your middle finger. Say it!" Eric then farts again, this time beginning crescendoing spurt of air followed by a quick-tempoed flutter which dies out and is culminated in more air.

"Must fight finger…" Craig says.

"Say it again!" Eric farts and quickly stops, "That was close…" he says in a very low voice while clenching his butt cheeks.

"Must … fight … finger," Craig struggles with his hand.

"Now…" Eric clenches his butt cheeks and tries to fart without anything other than flatulence coming out, "flip that National Socialist off in your mind and tell him _no more!_ " Eric commands; sharp high-octave sputters sound briefly.

"You…" Craig's right hand shakes, "will not…" he fights to keep his middle finger from becoming fully erect, "control … _me!_ "

Craig's finger goes down and he then exhales in relief.

"I did it – I'm cured!" Craig exclaims.

"Congratulations!" Eric then farts one more time, "Aaaggghhhh," he exhales as well.

"Stunning and brave!" Butters exclaims while clapping; other kids join in.

"Hip hip!" Eric starts.

"Hooray!" all the kids say in unison.

"Hip hip!" Eric again says.

"Hooray!" all the kids, plus Wendy, shout in unison.

"No, not you," Eric says to Wendy.

"I'll never flip again," says Craig.

Stan and Kyle look at each other.


	8. Chapter 8

Eric walks into the first study block session of the day.

"All right, Cretans, today's word is _penis_."

Some kids snicker.

"There nothing funny about _penis_. Today I'm going to start things off differently by having all of you write out the various ways to use the word _penis_. Remember: using _penis_ can sometimes seem easy, but often is _penis_ hard. C.O.P. Butters will oversee studies while I;m gone."

"Aye, yie, Commissioners!" Butters salutes.

"Child Stan, please come with me," says Eric.

Stan follows Eric out of the study shack and to the mystery shack; once in, Eric opens the door marked "DO NOT ENTER".

"Sit down," Eric motions to a chair next to a small table with some sort of machine on it. "Now take your shirt off."

"You're not going to TSA me, are you?" Stan asks.

"No. One demerit. I'm hooking you up to the Systemic Electropsycho Reading Fixative, or the S-Meter. Child Stan, I have reason to believe you are in the Condition of Problem Child, and therefore I am going to ask you some questions," he turns the machine on, "and the S-Meter will read the O/H signals of your body that you are obviously hiding," he then holds the two metal cans with wires attached to them leading back to the S-Meter, to Stan's nipples.

Stan says a little worriedly, "How do I know if I passed?"

"Hold there," Eric then fiddles with a knob to what looks like an old radio from the 1950's, "You see, if you're not holding anything back, the S.E.R.F. needle will float; stay in the general middle. If you do have Overts and Holdbacks, it'll do a Dole straight down to the left or right. Now, while you hold those to your nipples, I'm going to fiddle with my knob…" Eric adjusts it while keeping an eye on the needle."

Stan looks on nervously as the needle bounces back and forth, but only hesitates in the middle; finally, the needle crashes to a side.

"Oh … that's not good; you've Troied the needle."

"Maybe the machine is faulty, Commissioner."

"The S-Meter never lies; don't be a Hog. The procedure now is for you to be Analyzed," Eric sits across from Stan, and looks at him, "Are you hungry?"

"Well, yes, now that you ment—"

"Not general hunger, like, starving hunger."

"Then no," Stan replies.

"Good. Are you tired; in the _no sleep_ sense."

"Ah, no."

"Is there any reason not to start this invasiveness?"

"No, I guess not."

"Good. Are you the Lindberg baby?"

"I don't even know who that is."

"I'll take that as a 'No'. Do you know who wrote the book of love?"

"No."

"Good. Do you know where in the world Carmen Sandiego is?"

"No. what's with these questions?"

"I'm establishing a baseline S.E.R.F. needle reading."

"Oh."

"Have you, Child Stan, masturbated this week?"

"I don't see what that's got to do with anyt-"

"Back off man, I'm a scientist."

Stan hesitates, then relents, "Yes."

"Good. Have you been boning with any of the Cretans this week?"

"No."

"Good. Any 2B or 3B Holdbacks?"

"Ah, no."

"Egt – no, no, you needle is flipping wildly like Flipper moments before his untimely demise in his over-heated tank."

"No, I'm under duress!" says Stan.

"The needle is flatter than the 'Flatliners' remake!"

"Agh!"

"Did you feel up another Cretans?"

"No!"

"Better. Did another Cretan feel you up?"

"Sort of."

"Child Stan, the needle doesn't understand 'sort of'; be more precise."

"Someone may have … grabbed my wiener."

"Good. Was is Clyde?"

"No."

"Good, good. Did you like it?"

"Why does that matter?"

"I can't make you fully Translucent and able to help others without knowing what O/H's I'm trying to purge from your Cretan!"

"Yeah, I did."

"Did it, like, jump a bit?"

"Yes."

"Good. Was it a girl?"

"Yes," Stan says firmly.

"'cause I won't judge your perversion."

"It was a girl!"

"Good. Did you do anything to her to make her jump?"

"No."

"Oh. Anything else I should know of?"

"Not really; that's was really it."

"Good. Well, remember, Child Stan, Cretans must remain O/H free in order to become Translucent and stay on the Bridge to Somewhere. You must hold back and push deep down all that pent up sexual tension and never release it; just like Catholic priests. Your needle is floating now, so Analyzing is over; we shall return to studies."

They both get up and leave.

.

About 6:45 pm; the first study block is about to end.

"Okay, Student Cretans, I think we all got a firm grasp on _penis_. Everybody turn your papers in so I can go over then and make sure everybody knows _penis_ thoroughly like they should."

One-by-one each kid lays their paper on a stack on Eric's desk on their way to clean up for dinner.

.

Wendy and Craig stand watch at Eric's shed as everybody else eats dinner.

"So … come here often?" Craig asks her.

"Oh God…" Wendy says in a low voice.

"I gotta know … what's so special about Stan? Why him and not me?"

"Well, I thought you and Clyde were … _special_ friends."

"What? No! Goddamnit, how'd that rumor ever start?!"

"I don't know. I just assumed it was true after all those Asian kids started making art work over it."

"No! Fuck all of them! Not in the literal sense. In fact, don't tell anyone I said that."

"Hey, I got an idea: why don't I not tell anybody about a single word of these exchanges?" she says with a faint trace of sarcasm.

"Yeah, that's even better. So, how about we have dinner together at the same trough side?"

"How about we don't," says Wendy.

.

Eric sits down behind his desk in the final study block of the day.

"All right Cretans. To make sure you grasp on _penis_ is firm, I want you to show me all the ways to use _penis_ ; write out sentences demonstrating _penis_ use, then swap with another Cretans and let them judge your use of _penis_. C.O.P. Butters, come with me; I need to speak to you over your use of _penis_."

Eric and Butters exit and head over and into the cafeteria barn; Eric looks around for anybody sneaking about as they cross the ground.

Wendy and Craig looks up from eating dinner when they hear people enter; they watch the two out of curiosity. Eric sits at his eating table; Craig sits where Butters normally sits.

"What's this all about, Commissioner?"

"Butters, I tasked all Cretans, but looking at your paper on _penis_ use, I only see three things; one: I have a _penis_. Two: I wee from my _penis_. And three: my _penis_ makes creamy good. Butters, is this as far as your _penis_ goes?"

"Well, Commissioner, that's all I could come up with."

"What about: every man has a _penis_?"

"Oh. I didn't think of it."

"And that's what Word Hurdling is for. You see, there are many ways to use _penis_. Describing size: Eric's _penis_ is huge."

"I thought we measured your penis and it was-"

Eric interrupts Butters, "My penis is _huge_. Don't contradict the Commissioner!"

"Sorry, Commissioner."

"Finish this sentence: The _penis_ goes in the _black_."

"Cup?" says Butters.

"Technically yes, but I'm looking for a more specific answer."

"Aaahhh…" Butters ponders and then says, "Sock?"

"Also technically correct, but I'm thinking of something else. Something only women have."

"Oh!" Butters exclaims.

"I knew you'd get it."

"In the middle of boobs!" Butters says.

"No, vagina, Butters! **Vagina!** "

Wendy covers her ears.

"Minus one demerit for not saying _ass_. Now, if you add the letter _I_ to the word 'pens', you get…"

"Penis," Butters answers.

"Good. Now you try it; use _penis_ to describe a health issue."

"Ummm, got it – my sprung ankle is as swollen as a penis," says Butters.

"Excellent. Now use it to describe a state of being."

'Well, that's an easy one: that dead guy is stiff as a penis!" Butters says excitedly.

"Now you're handling _penis_ correctly!" says Eric.

"Great! Well, that was fun. Now I can get back to studies," says Butters.

"Not so fast. I want you to stay here and use this Word Hurdling booklet," Eric pulls a small paper pamphlet out of his Popeye the Sailor Man faux Navy pockets shirt and hands it to Butters, "on the ways to use words and write out every single way you can think of. Now," Eric stands up, "I have S.C.U.M. to teach," Eric then exits out of the barn.

"Oh, fiddle sticks," Butters then begins writing after reading some of the pamphlet. Stumped, he looks over at Wendy and Craig, "Hey, guys. How's it going?"

"Fine," Wendy answers.

"Fine," Craig also says.

"Say, Wendy, you wouldn't happen to know how to use _penis_ , would you?" asks Butters.

"I'm not helping you cheat," Wendy replies.

"Oh. Craig, you know how to use _penis_ , right?"

"Goddamnit! It's just a fucking _rumor!_ "

An awkwardly long silence hangs in the air.

Then Butters speaks, "Well, fine then; if that's how you feel, keep your _penis_ use to yourself. But gosh golly, don't ask me to help you with your _penis_ use in the future."

Craig stops eating and looks angrily at Wendy.

"I'm not hungry anymore," says Craig.

.

As Eric walks back to the kids to go over the judging of their work, he is watched from the bushes. Once out of sight, Gerald sneaks out from behind the, in the same get-up as last time. As he sneaks around, he hums in a low voice the theme from the original "Mission: Impossible" TV series. He again pulls out a lock pick set once at Eric's shack. He begins picking it.

"Come on, come on. Don't look around, work the lock…" he looks about, "You looked around!"

Finally he catches all the tumblers and the lock gives, allowing him to open the door; he looks around, enters and closes the door behind himself.

We hear Gerald comment from inside the shack, "Holy smokes…"

.

Just as Eric is about to sit down at his desk, a better-operated red light flashes from underneath his desk. He sees the wireless security alarm and leaps back up.

"Keep working on _penis_!" and he again goes to full ludicrous waddle speed.

Gerald hears an air horn and panics, "Ut oh…" he quickly exits the shack.

" _ **BUTTERS!**_ " Eric screams at the top of his lungs.

Butters drops his pen and leaps up, "Oh, no – the Military industrial complex is back!"

Butters runs toward the exit. Wendy and Craig look at each other, then get up and follow Butters.

Once outside, they see Eric and run after him.

"Stop _you thieving Bilko!_ AGH! My soul for some hounds!"

Butters catches up to Eric as Eric slows down from entering the woods.

" _Commissioner!_ Child Wendy and Child Craig are guarding your shack. Your orders!"

"Get that black-helicopter flying, Area-52-working, underground star chamber attending son of a bitch!"

"I can't, Commissioner."

"Why _not?!_ " Eric stops and looks at Butters.

"You have the only flash light, he's already out of sight. And even if I could take him, there's no place to hold him."

"That's it! Tomorrow you and I are finishing the C.O.C. shack and making sure it's secure. I want my valuables securely under my C.O.C.."

.

Gerald hides behind a thick tree for enough into the woods to where he feels secure.

"I know your secret, Eric Cartman. Oh, yessireee. And pretty soo-"

"Ay, you fucking asshole!"

Gerald sees a flashlight beam nearby and hears branches and leaves crunch and snap underfoot.

"Damnit," Gerald exclaims and runs away as rocks are thrown in his general direction.


	9. Chapter 9

Two days later. All the kids stand around.

Butters blows the three-note maritime motif on the piccolo and shouts, "Yoho, Commissioner!"

Eric walks up and stands with his back to the shed, "Welcome, Cretans, to the grand unveiling of the Cartman Organization Center! This C.O.C. was only possible with BULL – Built Under Lasting Leadership. As some of you are no doubt aware, some nefarious Hog has been trying to steal from and undermine this Myentology Puddle Org location. But no longer, as this shack is double-boarded, with a re-enforced door from; and a two-sided double-toothed door lock that can't be picked. I'm sure you'll all sleep better knowing the important paper work of Myentology is secure."

"Ow, my back…" Stan says in a low voice.

Butters starts clapping, which spawns copycats who don't want to look bad for not clapping.

"Wow! I love your C.O.C. and BULL story, Commissioner!" Butters exclaims.

"thank you, thank you. Thank you. None of this would have been possible if not for all your Cretans. Soon, all your hard work will be rewarded. Now, today a couple of Hogs will be coming through to inspect the property, so remember the one/two whistle rule. P.E.S.T. work will be divided into two areas today: rock cleaning detail and painting. Painting detail will be laying down coats of paint on the outside of all the sheds, shacks and barns. Post P.E.S.T. work as normal. Chop, chop, Cretans! Important Myentology work to do," Eric quickly waddles off to his shack.

The kids begin dispersing.

"Let's rock and roll," says Stan.

"No. Just … no," Kyle says back to Stan.

.

About an hour or so later; Kyle and Stan supervise the cleaning of the rocks, cleaning as well, but halt when they hear the the whistle blow. They begin hiding cleaning supplies; the kid with paint and painting accessories, too.

Eric waddles up to a county vehicle with the words "Property Assessor" on it.

"Ah, good morning, Mister…"

"Burea Crat."

"Mr. Crat. How is your morning so far?"

"Sufficient thus far."

"Well, sufficient is better than no ficient," says Eric.

"Yes. Has the small talk concluded?"

"Proceed," Eric replies.

"Indeed. Now, as you know, Mr. Cartman, even though there are certain requirements you are required to meet, because of the nature and historical age of your property, some grand-fathering of existing older structures has been allowed."

"And exemptions for religious institutions," says Eric.

"You're done your homework. Have you thought about an unpaid internship in the government bureaucracy?"

"If it doesn't pay, I don't play."

"Oh well. Let's walk, shall we? I've got other people's lives to steal from and wallets to empty in the name of the bureaucracy headed by elites who know better than you and I only even though they're men no better or knowledgeable than you and I."

.

Mr. Crat kneels on the ground, holding the end of a tape measure to the floor and up to the widow frame.

"Hum … four feet from the floor as required by Federal law."

"Oh, yes, sir," says Eric.

"Um hum. But it is _precisely_ four feet?" Crat then removes a laser gun fo0r measuring precisely, from the inside of his business suit; the measuring tool having been inside a holster. He points, pulls the tripper and reads the results, "Hum, precisely four feet."

"I know, I used a laser measuring tool, too," says Eric.

"Oh, so it's a bureaucrat-off you want, huh?"

"No, Mr. Crat, I'm sure you're more than equipped to win that."

"Ah, thank you. You know, I like my ego stroked as much as the next self-important useless government bureaucrat, so I'll just mark this Dumpings' building as 'satisfactory'."

"Have I told you how slimming and manly that suit makes you look?"

"Don't push it."

"Sorry," Eric says.

"Next structure."

.

Mr. Crat stops at the side of a shack and sniffs the air.

"I smell fresh paint."

"Yes, I'm having all exteriors painted."

Mr. Crat walks a little and stops again, "Why is only half this side painted?"

"Oh, well, the painters went on break."

"Good. Are they O.S.H.A. compliant?"

"Mr. Crat, I sure hope you aren't doing the job of a Federal employee; impersonating one is a Federal crime," says Eric.

"Touché. I withdraw my line of questioning. Nest structure."

.

"C.O.C.?" Mr. Crat asks when they pass the Cartman Organization Center.

"Oh, that' an outhouse," says Eric.

"What does it stand for?"

"Ahhh … Crap Out your Crack; it's a unisex outhouse.

Crat tries the door, "It's locked."

"Only Myentology Ranch Seasoning members can use it. Unlike Starbucks, we enforce out reasonable non-racist rules."

"Understood. Structure has a ramp and is wide enough for the handicap. There is a handrail in there, isn't there?"

"Yes, sir; got it from the Wal-Mart ruins."

"Good. Two more structures to go…"

.

Several minutes later; Eric walks with the bureaucrat to his vehicle.

"Well, Mr. Cartman, after careful consideration, I've decided to give Ranch seasoning a passed-inspection box check. Here's your copy. You'll receive more paper work in three to six business days."

"Thank you."

"And remember: even though you legally own the property, you can't change anything without approval; and the changes must meet the city building codes. Your ownership is only a cure formality."

"Go away now," says Eric.

"Bye-bye," the assessor sits in his vehicle and shuts the door. He does a U0turn in the land and heads off.

Butters blows the whistle twice. All the kids come out of their hiding places.

Wendy and Stan pop up from behind some bushes after checking to make sure no one is looking; they quickly walk back to work.

"You think anybody saw us?" Stan asks her.

"I don't think so," Wendy says, straightening out her skirt.

Craig pops out from behind a nearby tree, "Whoa, free show and I didn't even have any popcorn."

"As you were!" Eric commands allowed to them all.

.

Some time passes. Kenny and Clyde stand next to each other, paijting a side of the feeding barn.

"I have a theory, Kenny: painting the sides white is racist, but if we paint it black, they say that's also racist, too. Painting companies know this stupidity and milk it, offering both colors even though they know it outrages a minority of fucktards. I think it's a conspiracy to sell the neutral shade of gray."

"What about extra-terrestrials?" Kenny asks.

"We'll just have to pray we don't get invaded by grays."

"What the hell are you guys talking about?" Breanna says, poking around a corner.

"It's not polite to ease drop. I have another theory: Breanna is a nosey nelly."

Breanna sticks her fingers in her ears, waves her fingers around and sticks her tongue out as Clyde; he does the same.

The whistle blows loudly. The kids scatter to hide.

Eric watches a fancy car pull up. An older husky guy exits the car and walks over to Eric.

"Mr. Dallas Forsythe?"

"That's me."

"Excellent. come on, lets tour the property."

"Boy howdy," the man says excitedly.

"Howdy indeed. Oh, by the way, here's my copy of the property assessment; which I passed."

"Cool deal. Yeah, yeah, yeah, looks good," he hands it back to Eric.

"As you can see, the grounds are kept and being restored. Structures are being refurbished inside and out. Plus, soon a rustic wall of rocks will outline the front of the property."

"Oh, rock walls; just like them old homesteads in Ireland."

"Yes. Only minus the evil soulless redheads. Check out the dining room, slash kitchen barn…" Eric opens a door and lets the man in first.

"Woowee! That's a deluxe hog slopper. My little piggies are gonna squeal for that!"

"And the kitchen is conveniently connected. You can raise them and slaughter them under one roof."

"Ohhh, the deluxe Gaffigan model. I'll sure be bacon it. Ha!"

"Heh heh heh," Eric feigns laughter, "Yeah. Now, I am legally obligated to inform you there's no functioning bathroom, but it'll be worked on. Right now there are only holes."

"Heck, that doesn't bother me; I shit in my back yard all the time – good, strong, free fertilizer."

"I know what you mean; there's nothing like a good early-morning dump in the fresh air. It lets the world know: You see this? I did _that_ , world – fuck you!" says Eric.

"Heck yeah, it's like we're poop brothers," says Dallas.

"Yeah, whatever works for you."

"I think I've done seen enough. Next Friday, how about we meet and draw up the papers?" Dallas asks.

"Excellent! But can we make it this Friday? I need the check to clear and the funds available for next week."

"Yeah, yeah, I can swing that. You, my poop brother, have a deal. Wanna shit together on it?"

"No thanks, I went a while ago," says Eric.

"No problem; tell you what – I'll take an extra shit just for you," says Dallas.

"…swell. Well, I have things to do."

"Gotcha. I got things to _do_ , too. Get it?" Doo?"

"I must go now. Bye bye," says Eric hoping to end the conversation right away.

"Bye bye," the man turns and heads back to his vehicle.

Eric heads over to Butters, who has been lingering just far off enough to not look suspicious.

"C.O.P. Butters, blow twice and go around and make sure they know it's post P.E.S.T. work time."

"Aye, aye, Commissioner!" Butters replies and then blows the whistle twice as he walks away from Eric.

Eric begins singing to himself," I'm in the money. I'm in the money. I'm in the-"

"Hey, Commish," says Craig.

"Wah hoo, Child Craig. What's up?"

"I need to … take the piss, if you know what I mean."

" _OH_ … come this way…"

.

Stan and Kyle clean their hands at the faucet. Kenny and Clyde wait ahead of other kids.

"I have nightmares about potatoes. In them Mr. Potato Head chases me around calling me a murderer. I wake up before he mashes me," says Kyle.

Eric waddles up, "Child Stan, please come with me."

.

They enter the Analyzing shack and go into the S-Meter room.

"No, I've been good!"

"Child Stan, there are three people who know that isn't true – you, me, and the person who tattled on you."

"Oh, man."

"You're a repeat O/H's offender – only the S.E.R.F. needle can determine if you're being honest. Now, put the cups over your nipples."

As Stan does that, Eric cuts the S-Meter on and then proceeds to tune it.

"I'm innocent! I was only getting Skittles! These aren't my pants! Or something!"

"Are you hungry?" Eric asks.

Stan sighs, "No."

"Good. Are you tired?"

"No."

"Good. Is there any reason not to start this invasiveness?"

"Unfortunately, nothing I can think of," says Stan.

"Good. Did you do your P.E.S.T. work to the best of your abilities today?"

"Yes, I think."

"Good. How do you feel?"

"I fail to see the logic in that question."

"Good. Did you and Child Wendy fool around begin the bushes while waiting for C.O.P. Butters to blow the whistle twice?"

"Well, sort of…"

"Oh, oh – your S.E.R.F. needle is going under…"

"Yes we did."

"Good. So, did you two feel each other up?"

"Yes."

"Good. That's a 2B – one demerit!"

"Agh!"

"Oh, no, your needle is fluctuating like a Congressman's stance on an issue during re-election time!"

"What do I do?" Stan asks.

"Better appease the S.E.R.F. needle; what else are you holding back?"

"But I already confessed!"

"Ut-oh, your needle is finding Nemo…"

"Ah, ah, ah, ah … I, ah, I pealed three less potatoes than Kyle.

"Fewer," Eric corrects Stan.

"Three fewer than Kyle."

"Good, good, the needle is rising like an 18-year-old at the Playboy mansion."

"Whew…" Stan wipes sweat from his forehead.

"Do not remove the cups until told to do so!"

"Sorry," Stan puts the cups back on.

"And one demerit for lying and saying you did the best you could during P.E.S.T. work; three more potatoes wouldn't have broken you. You've accumulated a lot of demerits; I'm going to have to count them up – there may be a punishment in order."

"I can do better."

"If you want to help other people, you first got to help yourself. And I hope you can do better, because two more Analyzings, or one failed Analyzing, will get you placed under B.A.L.L.S.; you do _not_ want to be under B.A.L.L.S.."

"Oh no, that sounds bad!"

"It is. Now, since your needle is floating, you're dismissed. When you get back to studies, tell Child Breanna to come over."

"Yes, Commissioner. What did she do?"

"Child Stan, questions are…"

"A burden onto others. Sorry, Commissioner," Stan gets up and exits the S-Meter room.

"Good little S.C.U.M.."


	10. Chapter 10

Tuesday morning: All the kids are lined up for inspection. The door to Eric's shack cracks open just enough for him to slip out.

"Ooohhh," he yawns, "Good morning, Cretans. Sorry for not being so on the ball this morning, but I was up all night deep into Myentology research; I hope to unveil the results soon."

Butters comments, "That's dear C for you, always burning the midnight oil in pursuit of bettering our world!" and then he claps.

"Thank you, C.O.P. Butters. As you know, today is Tuesday – the start of the new week. And what better way to begin the week, but with exciting news. Puddle Org was just the testing level of Ranch Seasoning, a level I am proud to say all of you thus far have passed, as none of you have dropped out. In two weeks all of you will be graduating to the Lake Org, where exciting new learning will occur."

Butters claps and there is some sporadic apathetic clapping amongst the kids.

"At a brand new in-door location."

Suddenly the clapping intensifies and all the kid's faces perk up.

"All of this is due to my tireless leadership and skills developed in and learned from Myentology. Hip hip."

"Hooray!" all the ids say in unison.

"Hip hip," Butters leads off the second one.

"Hooray!" all the kids exclaim in unison again.

"All right, now stand ready for inspection."

Eric whacks his riding crop against a left as he looks them over.

.

Two hours later; the kids are exiting the feeding barn.

"I think I'm starting to see faces in the mashed potatoes; kind of like the poppers from that episode of 'Futurama'," Kyle says to Stan.

"Is it funny that I'm thinking of that comedy song 'The Monster Mash'?" Stan says back to him.

"No, it's not. So, did you get in trouble last night?"

"Yeah. Some little tattling douchebag keeps ratting on me. I swear to God when I find him I'll choke him with his emo hat and beat him with his douchebag selfie stick. Which I assume he has both of," says Kyle.

They near Wendy and Craig at the C.O.C. shack.

"Who do you think it is? I mean, it could be anyone. Except me and probably Kenny," Kyle asks Stan.

"I don't know. First time was at the Dumpings, and we were all there; the second time we were all hiding, so whomever saw it was hidden."

"Hey, what if it's that Breanna chick? Maybe she was put here to monitor us," Kyle speculates.

"So many suspects, but no Tim Curry to help us narrow is down," says Stan.

"Well, just try to not commit any other O/H's," Kyle says as they stop at the C.O.C. shack, "in two weeks out training will increase and who knows – maybe we'll finally get to start helping people."

"I hope so; I don't think I can take much more. I just want to find the weasely snitch bitch and punch him in his dick-nose little face! Oh, hey Craig," says Stan when they arrive at the shack.

Craig nods.

"Oh, that's right – I forgot – you two can't talk while on R.C.M.P. duty. Good. Wendy, just listen; don't say anything or nod you head, that way we can't get in any trouble. I can't be your boyfriend while a Myentologist. We're young and have urges and those urges are getting us in trouble. It's wrong and against the rules; out thing is a forbidden thing. It can never be! Farewell, Wendy," Stan walks away.

"Geez, would you like some melodramatic music to go with that soap opera?" Kyle asks him.

.

Later during P.E.S.T. work. Kenny and Clyde help clean rocks.

"You know, Kenny, I have a theory: Disney cartoons are secretly dark disturbing festish worlds; think about it. Every kids knows about Goffy being a dog who walks on two legs and wears cloths, yet Pluto is a dog who's naked and walks on all fours. _And_ is _owned_ by another animal. But we have to dig deeper than that."

Kenny sighs, "Do we?"

Yes. Yes, we do. So, assuming the Disney Mickey Mouse-verse animals have rights – since they get arrest _and_ go to court – does that mean Pluto is owned kind of like a slave? And since Pluto is much like a real life dog, does it mean Pluto is retarded? Do retarded dogs have no rights, since they get locked up in the pound after being hunted down by a dog catcher? Is that how retarded animals are treated in that universe? And how come Goofy and certain characters wear pants while others – like Daffy Duck, Huey, Louie and Dewey – as well as female ducks – wear none? And how do they re-produce? I don't see any junk flapping in the wind between Daffy's legs. Not that I want to."

Kenny gives Clyde a silent glance.

"Okay, maybe I do. Only to see what accurate duck junk looks like animated. And how come in the Navy Daffy _still_ doesn't have to wear pants? Then there's the issue of shoes; some wear them, others don't. Take, again, Goofy as an example: he gets to wear shoes while the retarded Pluto gets none. Canine inequality is what it is. In that universe, some dogs are more equal than others. Two legs good, four legs bad. So, does that mean other animals are checking half-naked ones out? But wait – it gets even seedier; they also segregate themselves. Mickey has Minney, Daffy has what's her name, Bugs has what's her name. Are there ducks-only water fountains? Is inter-species dating taboo? Does Pluto only get to date other retarded dogs? If Pluto gets another retarded dog pregnant, does that mean the puppies are born owned by another animal? If one of more of the litter comes out intelligent enough to walk on two legs and talk, is he or she still owned? Is it like the dog lottery to be born smart? If two smart dogs birth a retarded dog, what happens to it? You see what I mean?"

"What the fuck are you two talking about?" Stan asks.

"Mind you own business," Clyde says to Stan.

"Gladly," says Stan.

"Anyway, it's a racist world of nudity, and inequality. And how do animals with no genitals reproduce? Why do some have genitals and therefore wear pants? Do duck tits produce milk? I have so many questions!"

"Questions are a burden on others," says Kyle.

"Screw that – I simply must know more about duck tits," says Clyde to Kenny.

"Ask you mama," a random kid says.

" _Who said that?_ "

.

The kids all sit in the final study block of the day. Eric walks in.

"Okay, everybody's T.P.S. reports from yesterday looks good, except Child Kyle and Child Butters; you two need to pay more attention. Today's word ought to help all of you rise to attention: Fornication. Child Clyde, can you use _fornication_ in a sentence?"

" _Fornication_ is a word in the dictionary," says Clyde.

"Good, but next time try a little more imagination. Child Stan, demonstrate _fornication_ for us."

"Nothing's coming to mind," says Stan.

"Surely, Child Stan, you know something about _fornication_."

Some of the kids snicker.

"I just can't think of an example right now," Stan replies.

"Child Wendy, can you help Child Stan with _fornication_?"

"Ah, _fornication_ has eleven letters in it," says Wendy.

"Hum, sounds like both of you need to work on _fornication_. Perhaps you two can Hurdle _fornication_ together later. Child Craig, I bet you know a lot about _fornication_ …"

.

Two days later – Thursday.

Stan and Wendy kiss behind a shed. After a few seconds they stop.

"Oh, Stan."

"Oh, Wendy … I have something to tell you…"

"Really? You're not going to Picard me, are you?"

"Huh?"

"Where you're gonna say something but stop short of it because of an interruption," Wendy says.

"Oh. No, I'm really going to say it this time. Wendy…"

"Yes?"

"I…"

"Yes? _Yes?_ "

"Lo-"

 _ **HHHOOOOONK!**_ An air horn blows loudly, jolting Stan awake.

"Wakey, wakey," says Butters. He looks around and says to Stan, "Oh, Stan, looks like you wet yourself a little."

Stan's bloodshot eyes tremble.

.

Later during P.E.S.T. work. On-by-one kids pass rocks to each other from piles of clean ones, to a small group building the wall while putting cement under each. Eric slowly walks the line, whacking a leg side with the riding crop; the reflections of the kids and land can be seen in his high-polish sunglasses.

"Wipin' the sweat from my brow, Commissioner," says Kyle.

"Wipe the sweat, Child Kyle."

"Whew, can I get some water Commish?" asks Craig.

"Get some water, Child Craig."

Craig walks to a cooler filled with ice water nearby; the rocks continue passing to the wall.

"Taking my shirt off, Commissioner," says Stan.

"Take your shirt off, Child Stan."

Stan takes his short off, which is damp with sweat. Craig re-joins the line.

Butters comes jogging over to Eric, "All good so far, E.T.C.; no problems and work ins preceeding steadily."

"Good, good."

Butters makes his way back to the wall.

"That's some fine rock passing, Cretans," says Eric.

"rock and roll, gents," Butters says to the wall builders.

"I fucking hate rocks now," Clyde says to Kenny.

"Is it a wide-reaching rock conspiracy?" Kenny asks Clyde.

"No, just a bunch of un-adopted fucking Pet Rocks."

Eric turns around and walks back up the line.

"Use the holes, Commissioner?" Breanna asks.

"Use the holes, Child Breanna."

Breanna walks quickly to the holes.

"I wanna see those bushes shacking…" says Eric.

"Yes, Commissioner."

Eric continues slowly walking the line and looking over to see the bushes shake occasionally.

"Child Kyle, fetch me a sweat rag."

"Yes, Commissioner," Kyle says and dashes off.

Eric looks over to see the bushes shaking. Kyle dashes back over. Eric takes the rag and wipes his face as Kyle gets back into line. Eric then starts wiping his neck; as he does so, he looks back over and sees the bushes are not shaking.

"Shake those bushes, Child Breanna."

Nothing happens.

"Shake those bushes I say!"

The kids stop and look over with curiosity. The bushes still do not shake.

"C.O.P. Butters!" Eric yells; he then runs over to the holes, with Butters running over as well.

Eric runs behind the bushes to the holes and sees fishing line tied to a bush and leading into the forest.

"Butters! She's Blowing!"

"Don't we have to be 18 or older to see that?" Butters asks.

"Hurling, Butters!"

"Oh."

"Watch the other S.C.U.M. and make sure they don't Blow either!"

"Yes, Commissioner!" Butters jogs off as Eric waddle-runs into the forest, following the line.

"Child Breanna! Come back! You can't leave without doing a Blow Screen!"

He works his way into the forest some, pushing brush and limbs aside.

"Goddamnit I hate nature. Come back here!" he listens and hears some faint movement off a ways; he makes a finger gun and points, "Pew! Pew pew pew! Pew!" he stops, "Damnit, I missed. Agh! Fine then! Don't come back looking to better yourself through Myentology!"

He growls as the reflection of the forest is seen on his glasses.

.

As the last kid walks off for Shore Leave, Eric unbuttons his shirt some and turns to head to his shack.

"Goddamn Cretans running away and shit. Gonna have to put fucking electric dog collars around their necks…" he removes his glasses and rubs his eyes as he walks, "I swear to Zod, if I get _one more_ surprise today…"

"Eric…"

Stunned, Eric stops dead in his tracks, mere feet from his shack. He sees Gerald standing there in military camouflage, arms folded, back against the shack.

"Mr. Broflovski," Eric says; it's then he notices the shack door is cracked open some.

"Gerald says, "We have to talk…"


	11. Chapter 11

Eric and Gerald sit at Eric's table in the feeding barn.

"So, Mr. Broflovski … what do you want?"

"In. I want in."

"What do you mean?"

"I want to be vice president or whatever you call it in Myentology. I've got two months of vacation time saved up and instead of taking shit from clients, judges, the district attorney and others, I'd like to _be_ the one dishing out the shit."

"Well, Mr. Broflovski, Myentology is all about bettering man and helping others, not shit dishing."

"Oh, I'm well aware of what Myentology is about…" Gerald says knowingly to Eric.

"All right … all right. Okay, so there is no vice president or second-in-command position in Myentology, but I can, however, make you executive director of Puddle Org and Lake Org."

"What's an executive director?"

"The kind of meaningless bullshit title you give to rappers on films. Basically, you out-rank Butters, but are my subordinate."

"I accept the title, however, the agreement is null and void unless one stipulation is met."

Eric sighs in an annoyed voice, "What's that?"

"I have equal unfettered access to your shack."

"What? I'm not giving you access to my shack."

"Either you do it or I tell on you."

Eric mumbles in a grouchy voice as he fishes a key out of a pocket, "Here's a spare key. Only Butters has access aside from us; no one else allowed in. All Cretans must remain five feet from the shack when opening and closing the door."

"We have a deal. Shake on it?" says Gerald.

"Fine," Eric says, still annoyed.

They shake hands.

"Let me fill you in on how things work. Apple?" Eric offers.

"Yes, please."

Eric gives Gerald a big red Granny Smith apple from a mini fridge next to the table. They both eat apples at the same time.

.

Friday morning. All the kids are lined up for inspection. Butters blows the old traditional Maritime three-note motif on the piccolo around his neck. The shack door opens.

"Commissioner on deck!" Butters yells.

Eric waddles out whacking the side of his left leg with a riding crop.

"Good morning, Cretans. Today marks a glorious new day here at Ranch Seasoning. With the move to the new Lake Org location fast approaching, additional help will be needed to oversee Puddle Org operations. Without further ado, I give you the executive director of Puddle Org," Eric looks back.

The shack door opens slightly, and Gerald walks out in a faux Navy Popeye the Sailor Man outfit just like Eric.

"Dad?" Kyle says in a surprised voice.

Gerald waves to Kyle, "Hey, son."

"Executive director Broflovski will be handling inspections this morning. Executive director?" Eric motions toward the kids.

Gerald walks up to the first kid and looks each of them up and down, "Brush the hair, Child Kenny – it doesn't look presentable."

"Yes, sir," Kenny removes a comb from a pocket.

"Good, good, good, good … Child Tweek, pull those pants up."

Tweek almost utters something, but looks at Eric and them does not when he sees Eric has a hand in a pocket.

Gerald finishes up and then stands next to Eric again.

"Like all of you, Executive Director Broflovski came to us as a Hog, but after witnessing what we do in Myentology, he has decided to begin on the Bridge to Somewhere to one day become Translucent and in a Condition of All Bars. Welcome him aboard. Hip hip!"

"Hooray!" all the kids shout in unison.

"Would you like to say anything, Executive Director?" Eric asks.

"Yes. Even though Child Kyle is my son and I have power over you, I promise to be fair and show him no favoritism."

"Damn," Kyle utters in a whisper-quiet voice.

"Think of me like as a relative. In fact, don't even call me by Executive Director, call me uncle Gerald. Any questions? Yes, you next to Child Kenny."

"Child Clyde," Eric says to Gerald.

"What happened to Breanna, Commissioner?"

"Who is she?" Gerald asks.

"The new girl who ran away last night, uncle Gerald," Clyde replies.

"A girl ran away?" Gerald comments to Eric.

"Her parents are hippies, so it's no big deal; she can live of the land. I left them a voicemail about it."

"Well, I don't know," Gerald replies back to Clyde.

Eric comments, "I assure you all it was just a fluke; everybody loves Ranch Seasoning."

"Well, I guess that's all I got to say. See you all at breakfast," says Gerald.

.

Once again the kids form a line to the clean rocks (and rocks being cleaned), to be passed down to the small group cementing them into a wall. Wendy inserts herself in.

"Move, Kenny," she says, so he can be next to Stan.

"Okay," Kenny replies.

"Hey, Stan."

"Hey, Wendy."

"Careful…" Kyle cautions Stan.

"How are you doing, Stand?" Wendy asks.

"Okay and in compliance with the rules of Myentology."

"It's not against the rules to talk, is it?" Wendy asks him.

"No, I guess not," says Stan.

"Good. So, I was thinking about you last night while I was in bed," says Wendy.

"I can't hear this!"

"Maybe if I whispered it into your ear…"

"No, no, no, let's talk about something else. Say, what exactly is in that mystery much anyway?"

Eric walks by, singing while slowly whacking one of his legs with the riding crop, "Like a rock. I was strong as I could be. Like a rock…"

"Permission to use the holes, Commissioner!" Stan blurts out.

"Use the holes, Child Stan. C.O.P. Butters, escort him."

"Yes, sir, Commissioner," Butters replies.

The two walk off to the holes.

Gerald monitors the wall construction.

"Looking good, Cretans. Yep, in another few days it'll be completed; then you can paint it. Child Clyde, try that rock. No, that one."

"It doesn't fit, uncle Gerald."

"Try that other one next to it."

"Not that one either, uncle Gerald."

"Oh, well, you'll get it," Gerald says and pats Clyde on the head and then walks away.

Clyde then picks up the correct rock he had intended to the whole time and shoves it into some cement, like a puzzle piece into the wall.

"I have a theory, Kenny."

"Ah huh," Kenny says, slapping some cement on the wall.

"Paint companies offer various shades of paint so people self-segregate their houses and cars and therefore themselves by their favorite colors, thus separating and diving us in order to further paint sales."

"What if everyone buys the same color? Wouldn't they still make the same amount of money?" Kenny asks.

"No, 'cause not all paint colors are the same price. And market supply and demand wouldn't allow for them to artificially raise prices to recap the loss."

"They can still sell outside the country other colors."

"Don't burst my theoretical bubble," says Clyde.

Gerald walks up and stands next to Eric, who is at a table with some lemonade, sipping a cup with a lime wedge on the rim.

"I totally micro-managed rock picking," he says as he pours himself a glass, too.

.

Breanna wanders through the forest. She pauses by a tree and hugs it. She then takes out a pad and pen and writes.

"Day three. I'm obviously lost and have gone in the opposite direction of all known civilization. In an attempt to survive, I have used all the survival skills my hippies parents have taught me, but alas I have yet to find a single Starbucks or Lucky's Market. To try and appease Mother Earth, I have hugged as many trees as possible; I also hugged a deer, which kicked me and ran away. Wait, I think I see a bear … I shall attempt to hug it…"

Breanna stands up just as the bear exits some brush. It looks at her.

"Hello, bear."

" **Rrrwwwarrrgh!** "

"Don't be afraid, bear, I love you. We are one with nature."

" _Aaarrrguh_ …" the bear rumbles it's voice.

"Let's hug!" she opens her arms up wide and looks at the bear.

The bear growls and stands up; as it growls, Breanna walks up and hugs it. It stops growling and looks down at her.

"Aaawww…" the bear mumbles.

"See? We don't have to be enemies. With just a little peace and lo-"

" **GRRRA-** _ **UMP!**_ " the bear devourers her in one gulp. It gets back down on all fours and licks its lips as it wanders away.

.

Stan stands at a hole, peeing. He hears a noise and looks over to see Craig next to him at a hole. Stan looks down.

"Agh, dude, you've got your dick out!" says Stan.

"What else would I pee out if?" asks Craig.

"Can't you see I'm using the hole?"

"There's more than one. We can be pee buddies," says Craig.

"Agh! Eyes on the prize or next semester everyone's gonna hear you and Clyde are pee buddies."

"Fine. But don't threaten a guy who'll pee on you."

"See, it's words like that that aren't helping your reputation."

.

Stan and Kyle prepare dinner.

"Let me ask you a question: you wouldn't pee next to a guy, would you?" Stan asks Kyle.

"Why – you don't want to pee next to me, do you? That might be the limit of our friendship," Kyle replies back.

"No, no, just a hypothetical."

"Oh. You going to make it without getting in trouble again?" Kyle asks Stan.

"I think so. Commissioner says I'm about to be placed under B.A.L.L.S.."

"That doesn't sound good. What is it?"

"I don't know, but he assures me it's bad. If I can just avoid Wendy until we graduate from the Lake Org and start helping people, I think I'll be okay. I really don't want to be Analyzed again either," Stan replies back.

"What's that?" Kyle asks.

"Something he does when you have O/H's tattled."

"Oh. Good thing I don't have a girlfriend. Guess I get to avoid any Analyzing," says Kyle.

.

Shortly after 9:00 pm. The last study block has already ended and kids are in line at the water faucet to clean up, as well as use the hole. As Stan walks away from the holes, he hears a voice.

"Pst…" the whisper comes.

Stan looks over, "Wendy?"

"Hey, Stan. Come here…"

Stan looks around to make sure no one is looking, then darts behind a shed, "We can't do this."

"We haven't done anything yet," Wendy says.

"No, just being here without telling anybody is a Holdback."

"Oh, nobody will know," Wendy assures him.

"My needle won't float!"

"How about a kiss, Stan?"

"A kiss?" he looks around nervously.

"Yeah huh. I know you've thought about it."

"Ah, maybe."

"Then how about a quick one?"

" _Uuummm_ … quickly, turn a cheek to me."

"No cheeks, Stan; we're not in kindergarten anymore."

"The lips?" Stan says, wide-eyed.

"Duh."

Stan leans in and says, "2B…"

Just as they kiss, they hear a throat clear.

Stan looks over and sees Eric, "…or not to 2B."

"Child Stan, welcome to B.A.L.L.S.; come with me…"

.

Eric pulls on a rope slowly with each hand as he speaks, "You see, Child Stan, when a Cretan has repeatedly been under the Condition of Problem Child, said Cretan gets placed into B.A.L.L.S. – Bad Actors Lacking Levelness Scheme. B.A.L.L.S. is though; there's no fun at all, which will make you blue," he stops pulling once the old rickety dingy from the center of the lake is up to the shore.

"I didn't mean to; she tricked me with her alluring feminine wiles!"

"That's what they all say. You'll be sleeping here while under B.A.L.L.S.; pick up your pillow and blanket. One demerit."

"Oh. This isn't so bad. At least nobody will touch me before bed," Stand comments to himself aloud.

"This is just the sleeping arrangement. Tomorrow you'll really be pounded by B.A.L.L.S.; get your rest, you're gonna need it."

"Yes, Commissioner," Stan says with a sound of defeat in his voice. He starts to climb in.

"Oh, Child Stan…" Eric calls out.

"Yes, Commissioner?"

Eric touches Stan on an arm, "Can you feel that?"

"Yes."

"Good. Goodnight."

Stan climbs in. Eric shoves the dingy off; it slowly works its way out into the small lake.

Stan places the blanket and pillow down and lies on his back.

He starts singing, "If they could see me now, out on a lake cruise…"


	12. Chapter 12

Tuesday – four days later.

Stan carries a big rock to the wall; hunched over, his arms droop completely down from the weight. Gerald talks as he walks with Stan.

"And left, and right, and left, and right, and left. Yep, just keep putting one foot in front of the other and soon you'll be walking to and from the wall. I know – you're probably getting tired of not being allowed to talk to anyone, but you brought B.A.L.L.S. upon yourself with your actions. You should be more like my son; B.A.L.L.S. are the furthest thing from his mind. On the plus side, between your extra efforts and regular wall work, the wall should be finished tomorrow and then we can begin painting it!"

Stan drops the rock onto the wall where he slapped on some cement in advance; he sighs and then begins stirring the cement mix to keep it from hardening.

.

Kyle, Kenny, and Clyde prepare dinner in the kitchen; all three peel potatoes.

"You know, Kenny, I have a theory: they call potatoes _potatoes_ because it sounds boring and stuffy so they can corner the market on this wonder pud. Think about it: mashed potatoes, potato chips, Spudnuts Doughnuts, French fries, pierogis – it's a miracle food. You can even plant seeds of other foods in it and grow them in it."

"What about pahtahtoes?" Kyle asks, screwing around with Clyde.

"I don't know, sounds like a knockoff, like wings with a _z_. What do they make out of pahtahtoes?"

"All the same things."

"That's gotta be illegal," says Clyde.

.

Later during dinner; Wendy and Craig guard Cartman's C.O.C. house while Gerald supervises Stan, who ate ahead of everyone else and is now cleaned up and refreshed. Getting too dark to cement rocks on the wall, Stan simply cleans rocks near the C.O.C. shack, using the flood-lamp light to work by.

"You kids doing all right? Oh, that's right – you can't talk. None of you can talk. I know you're all probably wondering where Child Stan has been; well, he's working B.A.L.L.S. right now for his O/H's. He's not allowed to talk to any other Cretans. Commissioner told me all about you two. Back in my day we had the sense to sneak out to Make-Out Point or climb through bedroom windows, rather than hide behind buildings at places of higher. Right, Child Stan?" Gerald says after turning to look at Stan. "See? Getting smarter already. You're doing a fine job cleaning those rocks; making sure to get every last bit off," he turns back to Wendy and Craig and steps closer to them, "So, Child Wendy, why Child Stan and not Child Kyle? If you'd have picked my Child Kyle, none of this would be happening right now; my son is a good boy. Child Stan, you could learn a thing or two from him."

Stan grumbles in a low voice.

"Well," Gerald looks at his old-fashioned wind-watched on his wrist, "Dinner is almost over; almost time for you three to eat."

.

Wendy and Craig eat on one side of the trough while Stan sits alone on the other. Eric walks around casually while eating an apple.

"Child Stan is really taking one for you, Child Wendy; B.A.L.L.S. can be hard and you really got to suck it up. If you don't, it'll just feel like they're pounding you all day long. I don't get any joy out of this," he then takes a bite out of the apple again, "I do this for you, so you'll be a better Cretan; only then can you help others."

.

Gerald sits back in Cartman's desk chair, substituting as the teacher while Eric is in the feeding barn; he reads from "The Bridges of Madison County".

"As he moved over her, he alternatively kissed her lips or ears or ran his tongue along her neck; licking her like some fine leopard might do in long grass out on the wild," he sits up and up looks confused, "What the fuck?" he says in a low voice. He sees a kid raise a hand, "Yes, Child Kenny?"

"I'm confused. Is he saying a leopard would lick her like that or is he saying leopards kiss each other's ears and lips as well as lick each other's necks, uncle Gerald?"

"I … don't know," Gerald replies back.

"Uncle Gerald," Kenny continues, "isn't that also improper use of the word _or_?"

"Ahhh … maybe."

"And more poor sentence structure, too, uncle Gerald?"

"Listen, this is widely considered by critics to be a literary masterpiece; whatever faults we perceive are our own and maybe all you Cretans need to do less criticizing and more thinking like some attentive leopard would be out in long grass out on the wild," he then leans back and comments loud enough for just himself to hear, "Gerald, you're a fine genius."

.

Thursday morning; all the kids are lined up for inspection, which Eric is finishing.

"Okay, everything looks good. After about a month of mastering P.E.S.T. work, I'm happy to say you're all better S.C.U.M. now, and tomorrow when you graduate to the Lake Org and relocate to the new facilities, you'll be leveling up in training. Yes, tomorrow we get serious about your Myentology training. Because of this special occasion, tonight all Cretans will be allowed to stay home overnight on Shore Leave. Please remember to pack your stuff and take it with you. You or your parents will drive you to the Lake Org; there's a slip of paper on each mattress with the address. The rest of the day will be spent finishing the wall and painting it, followed by touch-up cleaning. Remember. Child Stan is still dealing with B.A.L.L.S., so no one is to talk with him at all other than me, Executive Director, and C.O.P. Butters. Don't forget that B.A.L.L.S. are always beneath you, but always within the reach of a Problem Child, so you must be careful around B.A.L.L.S. and contain your O/H's or you too could find yourself in a sticky situation. One last thing before I hand over control to C.O.P. Butters for the day: remember the S.O.R.E. donation. Executive Director and I have important paper work to take care of off-site. TTFN," Eric walks passed them and to Gerald's SUV, where he gets in; Gerald drives off.

Butters walks back and forth, trying to look menacing while lightly smacking the riding crop that Eric passed onto him, into one of his hands, "While Commissioner is away, I shall be your Momentary Relief Educator Deputy; or M.R.E.D. for short. Now, I can be nice or I can be a harsh mistress," he stops and faces them, "Rest assured I can be soft or I can be firm!" he smacks the side of one of his legs with the riding crop, " **OW!** Son of _a biscuit_ that hurts! Oh, that's gonna be a major owie tomorrow."

.

Later that day. Gerald pulls back up to Ranch Seasoning as Kyle and Stan are taxied away by Timmy.

Eric hops out and is greeted by Butters.

"They're the last ones, Commissioner and all their stuff is gone. Permission to leave?"

"Denied. Executive Director is going on Shore Leave with his Hog family. I need you here to oversee equipment relocation; Jimbo and Ned will be here shortly to help load and move mattresses and what not."

"Oh. Right-O, Commissioner."

 _BEEP, BEEP!_ Eric turns to see Gerald motioning to Eric to come over. Eric walks over.

"Yes?"

"I almost forgot – I have Kyle's S.O.R.E. contribution with me," Gerald reaches out to hand Eric the money. As Eric grabs it, Gerald adds, "Five dollars as usual."

"Oh. Good," he watches Gerald drive away, "I see…"

.

Early Friday morning. The sun has already crested the horizon as the kids wait patiently outside the new Lake Org building; a white three-story building out in some land with an old tractor on one side of it.

"This place looks familiar…" Kyle comments lowly.

The main door opens, followed by a red light above it flashing on and off, making the same warning sound as the containment unit in the first "Ghostbusters" film when shut off. Eric comes out, wearing his same uniform, only now adorned with a couple of medals. He shuts the door de-activating the alarm.

"Welcome S.C.U.M. to the prestigious new home of Myentology training, made possible by the sale of Ranch Seasoning. Hence forth every Friday will be known as Lake Org Day; on that day less P.E.S.T. work will be done and more studying will occur. Being the first day here, take some time to unload your stuff and explore the building and grounds. M.o.P. Butters will check your supplies to make sure none of you brought any cellphones or electronics, which are still forbidden. Child Craig, Child Clyde, please come with me…"

The three enter the building. Eric unlocks a stairwell door by sliding a key card through a wall-mounted reader. They climb up to second story, which consists of just two medium-sized rooms.

"Clyde, Craig already knows what I'm going to say. Clyde, you seem uncaring bastard in-the-making, like a future supervisor or boss."

"Thank you. I guess. Commissioner."

"How'd you like authorita and special privileges?"

"What about the rest of the kids – do they get any of these?" Clyde asks.

"Just you two and Butters right now."

"Then yes. Yes I do," Clyde answers.

"Welcome aboard, Clyde; now you two will be taking the P.I.S.S.; as a Prominent Individual Servicing the Scheme, you three will become the moral police, or 'M.o.P's'. This will be your only post; no other post duties, though you will still be doing P.E.S.T. work. These three bags have the special uniforms, or estradas as I call them. You'll be on the lookout for O/H infractions and you'll have the power to give demerits."

"I promise not to abuse this new-found power any more than is necessary," says Clyde.

"Now, Butters has seniority. Only you two, Butters, Executive Director, and myself are allowed on the second story, unless I bring a Cretan up with me. And only I, Butters, and Executive Director are allowed on the third story," he points to a locked door with the uppercase letters "C.O.C." painted on it, "Nobody climbs up top my C.O.C. without permission. Note that demerits will not gain my trust and earn you a key to the top of my C.O.C., only loyalty and selfishness will. Now get dressed and explore and patrol."

.

Kyle, Stan, and Kenny explore the building.

Kyle closes a bathroom door, "I found flush-toilets! We've entered the 20th century."

"Cool," says Kenny.

They follow Stan into a large room and find bunk beds; a number of kids are already there and setting their stuff in pre-marked dresser drawers.

"I'm getting _deja vu_ ," says Stan.

"Hey, the bunk beds have name stickers on them. I'm gonna find my bunk!" says Kenny.

"Yep, now I know why…" Kyle pulls a piece of paper and holds it up.

Stan reads it, "Blaintology. Free Nike shoes with sign up. Kool-Aide refreshments provided."

"This is the friggin' Blaintology building we shaved our heads for and later escaped from," says Kyle.

"It's still here? How come we burned down the Wal-Mart but not this?" Stan asks.

"A reminder so we'd never forget?" Kyle ponders aloud.

Stan comments, "Oh yeah. I forgot what we weren't supposed to forget."

"Let's go find our bunk beds and make sure they're made before Butters checks," says Kyle.

Kenny reads a name sticker, "I got … Clyde. Damnit."

Stan says to Kyle, "Oh, cool, we got the same bunk."

"Neat. I got the top. Indoor air conditioning, flush toilets, things are looking up," Kyle says, looking happier.

"Ahem. Child Kyle," says Eric, who has snuck up behind them.

"Commissioner?"

"Come with me."

.

Eric and Kyle climb up to the second story area. Once up there, Eric unlocks the door marked "Analyzing Room".

"Uuurrrmmm," Kyle mutters in a frustrated tone.

"You know the procedure, "Eric says.

As Eric turns the S-Meter on, Kyle removes his shirt and puts the cups over his nipples.

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Good. Are you tired?"

"No."

"Good. Is there any reason to not start this invasiveness?"

"Yes."

"Explain."

"I'm innocent. I haven't done anything!"

"Oh, oh, your needle is going down faster than Mark Shayman back stage at a male model contest."

"But all I've done is clean rocks and paint them!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"The S-Meter doesn't like, Kyle. It's flatter than MSNBC's ratings. You wanna try that again?"

"Uuummm … I really think I'm innocent."

"Your dad gave me your S.O.R.E. contribution last night; the regular _five dollars_."

"Ooohhh, that."

"Does Child Stan have it?"

"No. It's all spent."

" _What?_ How could you have … never mind. From now on I expect to get the full five dollar amount every Friday."

"Yes, Commissioner."

"Child Kyle, I see you're gonna need some special attention. From this point on I will be riding you harder than before. You'll also be my assistant as needed, since Butters has been re-assigned. Welcome to Cretan Re-assignment Assistant Personnel."


	13. Chapter 13

All the kids wait patiently in the dorm, having been summoned there. Eric and the "M.o.P.s" walk in carrying cleaning supplies and a mop bucket.

"At ease, Cretans. As you may have noticed, this building hasn't been cleaned in a while. In order to meet certain health code violations, you'll be continuing your PEST work here by cleaning. Being that walk-in's will be allowed here, the level of cleanliness required will be very high. This will require a whole new scheme: Housekeeping Entails Lots of Learning. You'll spend the day cleaning the dorm, bathrooms, and kitchen. After that you'll be filling out your required Lake Org paper work, followed by dinner. As I have important new Myentology studies to polish for use tomorrow, I must go, but I'll be back later for H.E.L.L. inspection. TTFN," Eric then leaves, followed by the "M.o.P.s".

Stan glances at Kyle.

"It makes sense; if we're using the bathrooms, we clean them. Better than holes in the ground."

"Hey, didn't we forget the hole buckets?" says Stan.

"Ssshhhhh…" Kyle says, putting a finger to his lips.

.

Kenny and Clyde clean wall urinals next to each other.

"Got any theories?" Kenny asks him.

"Well, since you asked…"

"Damnit."

"My dad told me water fountains didn't used to be everywhere when he was growing up, that they started popping up everywhere in the 1980's. What happened in the 1980's? NASA figured out how to recycle astronaut urine. More people, more bathrooms, more water fountains. Coincidence? I think not."

"I regret asking now," says Kenny.

"EWWW!" Kyle exclaims.

Clyde, Kenny and Stan turn around to look at Kyle, in a toilet stall.

"What?" Kenny asks.

Kyle replies, "Dude, this is the same big fat shit Commissioner tool back during Blaintology. It's petrified some and maggots are crawling in it!"

"How do you know it's his?" Stan asks.

"Because he signed his name in it after it dried some. It says: Cartman."

"I remember – they called all the local plumbers and none of them would come out; his drain-clogging shits are infamous," says Stan.

"I have to stop asking questions," says Kenny.

.

Later that day. All the kids stand silently as Eric walks around. He lifts mattresses and smells them. Once done, he then starts opening drawers.

He opens one and finds wooden baskets, "What is that? Baskets? Fuck."

As Eric opens more drawers, making sure they're clean and orderly, he finds more baskets.

"More? Who's the basket case?" he asks after seeing the drawer is a spare with no assigned name sticker. Nobody raises a hand. "Okay, but this is not the way to Translucate. For every day you don't come forward, two more days of B.A.L.L.S. will be added to your punishment," he then removes a plastic bag from a pocket and opens it, taking out a pair of white gloves which he then puts on.

The kids watch as Eric walks around slowly, using his pointing finger to run across the tops of bunk bed wood side frames. He lifts the dirty finger up.

"What is this?"

"Dust, Commissioner?" Kyle says.

"What is that?" he says after running another finger over another frame top.

"More dust, Commissioner?" Kenny says.

"No, no, no – you can't be serious," Eric then bends over and runs a finger over the top of the nearby electrical outlet cover. "Oh dear, oh dear. Is this some kind of game to you?"

"No, Commissioner," Kyle says for everybody else.

"Well, I'm not playing. H.E.L.L. is no game; it's not Candy Land, it's not Chutes and Ladders, it's _H.E.L.L._ ," says Eric.

.

Now in the bathrooms, using a wet shite cloth, Eric wipes the bottom of one of the sinks; he shows the results to the kids.

"Look at this. _Look at this_. Have you all given up?"

"No, Commissioner," Kyle says re-assuredly.

"But the sink wasn't even fully cleaned. It's dirty, you fucking doughnut! Who cleaned this sink?"

"Commissioner, I did," Stan fesses up.

"Where's the passion? Honestly, I don't get it; I'm not feeling it. Is this your best?"

"I'll do better, Commissioner," Stan answers.

"You'll do better?" says Eric.

"I promise. My cleaning will be better, stronger, faster."

"Excellent."

After a few more minutes, Eric is already testing the toilets with a digital bacteria tester. He wipes each toilet and sticks the wipe into a tester.

"Pass," he then switches wipes, "Pass," and then switches wipes again, "Pass," and then he puts in the wipe from the toilet that had his old dried signed shit in it, "Oh … my … God; fail. Look at this!" he holds the digital display readout to all the kids and moves it side-to-side, "Five hundred and seventy-three!"

"Is that bad, Commissioner?" Kenny asks.

"Is that bad? Anything above thirty is in the danger zone!"

"Oh."

"Who cleaned this toilet?"

Kyle raises a hand.

"Child Kyle, you are now in the S.H.I.T.; Swabbing the Heads Individually Time. After H.E.L.L. inspection, you'll be cleaning each toilet again until they each get a reading of thirty or lower."

.

After a few minutes, Eric stands in front of them again.

"Okay, Cretans, the overall passing grade is a D; in other words: a fail. You must all clean the dorm and bathrooms again. Chop chop," Eric claps his hands.

The kids begin to disperse. As Kyle walks over to the cleaners to get what he needs, Eric stops him.

"Not so fast, Child Kyle…"

.

In the next shot we see Kyle sitting outside the closed stall door wearing a Chinese toilet paper roll dispenser hat, with a roll on each side and a stream of toilet paper leading to the stall by way of under the door.

"You see, Child Kyle," Eric says; he then farts shit out his ass, creating random chunky plops in the water, "you've yet to get you're A.C.T. together. You just need to _AAAGGGHHHaaaaal_ … you just need to find your Hat in Life. Right now you're in a Condition of E.R.'ing, but if you keep on that Bridge to Somewhere, you'll be in the Condition of Transformer. ooo _OOHHHYEeaaahhhhh_ … oh that's a big one."

Kyle's head bobs to the side as Eric yanks toilet paper into the stall.

"Yes, Commissioner."

Eric flushes the toilet it gurgles, struggling to flush all Eric's crap down. He flushes again with some results.

"Yep, you're gonna need long rubber gloves, the round-ball plunger, and a metal coat hanger."

"Coat hanger, Commissioner?"

"To break it up into flushable pieces," he opens the door and takes the toilet paper hat with him out the bathroom.

"Yes, Commissioner," Kyle says apathetically with a blank forward stare.

.

All the kids wait patiently at their bunks – having passed H.E.L.L. inspection – as Eric and the "M.o.P.s" hand out black paper folders and pends to all the kids.

"This is your Black File History, to be filled out by all those wanting to be in the Lake Org. For those thinking about dropping out, reconsider; the rewards will be beyond your comprehension. Even though technically you're in the Puddle Org and are only ten and haven't completed your studies, I think you're all ready for the Lake Org. Take your time; accuracy counts more than speed. I must go now," Eric then makes an about face and waddles off out the dorm.

Kyle and Stan look over the paper work in their folders.

Stan comments, "Looks standard so far: basic info' … wait … credit cards, piggy banks and how much in each, sexual info', crimes and jail time, medications, hospitalizations, drug use, relatives and how they feel about Myentology…"

"Well, I guess it's-"

Stan cuts Kyle off, "No. No it's not."

"I just … maybe I'm not Myentology material," says Kyle.

"You wanna quit?" Stan asks Kyle.

"Well … breakthroughs and rewards are coming, and I do want to learn how to help other people. Maybe it's just video game withdrawals. I don't know how Commissioner deals with it so easily."

"If you're staying, then I'm staying. Hey…" Stan then reads another one of the papers in the black folder, "My penis size is pre-filled in."

Over at Craig and Clyde's bunk, Craig reads one of the pieces of paper, "Detailed sexual history?" he continues reading the sheet, "Do you have sex with women, men, hermaphrodites, animals, Clyde, select as many as applicable."

"What?" Clyde looks at the same sheet in his folder, "Women, men, hermaphrodites, animals and Craig. _Goddamnit!_ "

"Argh – why is my sex option list empty?" Tweek asks.

Wendy reads hers, "Mine has an option for Stan. Can't fault the reality of that eventuality."

"La la la, I can't hear that," Stan plugs his ears with his pointing fingers, "Baseball, Nanci Pelosee, the metric system, George Sorros on the beach in swim trunks. Oh, God – _what have I done to my brain?!_ "

"Pull out! Pull out!" Kyle says to Stan.

"Oh, God he's hideous!"

Butters and Eric, listening outside the door, cover their mouths and laugh quietly.

.

Later that day. Stan and Kyle once again find themselves peeling potatoes, now in the new kitchen, for dinner preparation.

Kyle speaks after a long silence, "Do you suppose Mr. Potato Head has a penis? He has a wife and, as a I recall, a son, so Potato Heads reproduce, right? Is it a regular penis or do you suppose it's detachable like his eyes and nose? If it detaches, does that mean Mrs. Potato Head can use it? Can she get other female Potato Heads pregnant?"

"Maybe they're asexual like tribbles, re-producing at will," says Stan.

"Or they're grown like pod people. So, what do Potato Head people eat? Certainly not potatoes, potato chips, mashed potatoes, Spudnuts doughnuts or other products with potatoes as ingredients – it would be cannibalism. I can't imagine a world without potato chips. And how long do they live? Wouldn't they die from simply spoiling? With such a short life span, wouldn't that mean they have to have sex and re-produce at a higher rate than humans? And that would probably necessitate more sexual partners. So many partners would naturally mean inbreeding like crazy."

"Dude, why are we talking potato penises and potato people sex lives?" Stan asks Kyle.

"I don't know. I'm spacing out. I think peeling potatoes is finally getting to me."

"Just hang in there; tomorrow is all that fancy new training we were promised," says Stan.

.

Hours later. All the kids are cleaned up and dressed in their after-hours kennies. As kids are setting in and getting ready for the P.A.S.S. scheme, Eric enters the dorm.

"Evening, Cretans. I trust you enjoyed exploring your new Myentology training facility and are ready for the new training schemes tomorrow."

"Yes, Commissioner," all the kids say about the same time in reply.

"Good. On the christening of the new location, I was going to lead off the P.A.S.S. scheme myself instead of letting you all do it as usual, but since Child Kyle is now in C.R.A.P., I've decided to have him touch all of you instead. Child Kyle, you have the honors."

Kyle sighs, turns to Stan and puts a finger on one of Stan's arms, "Can you feel that?"

.

After several minutes, Kyle finishes; kids lie down for the night. When Kyle reaches for the sides of the bunk bed ladder, he hears Eric give him an order.

"Hold on, Child Kyle."

"Commissioner?"

Eric puts a hand on Kyle's ass, "Can you feel that?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, grasp the ladder handles."

"Yes, Commissioner," Kyle says when he does so.

"Now put your left foot on the first rung."

Kyle does so.

"Climb up one step."

Kyle does so.

"Step down one time."

Kyle does so.

"now climb up two steps."

Kyle does so.

"Step down once."

Kyle does so.

"Climb up two steps."

Kyle still continues to do so.

"Step down twice."

Kyle does so.

"Step back down onto the floor."

Kyle stands back on the dorm floor.

"Now climb up one step. Climb up another. And another. And up another step."

Eric pauses while Kyle is on the ladder, to take a bite of a big red apple.

"Climb one step up again."

Kyle does so, putting him one final rung from the bed.

"Okay, now … step down one time."

Kyle does so.

"Climb one step up. Now, again one final time."

Now Kyle stands on the final rung.

"Now you may lay down. Nighty night, Cretans," Eric says as he waddles off to the door out. He shuts the lights out.

Kyle lies there with his eyes open, twitching all over as kids fart in bed.


	14. Chapter 14

Eric finishes inspecting the kids the next morning.

"Okay, looks good. Since you've all graduated to the Lake Org, you'll no longer be needing your Ranch Seasoning kennies. No, from this point on you'll be wearing these," Eric holds up a pair of medium gray sweat-pants like pants in one hand, with a same-colored gray shirt in the other. Along the shoulder blades is a darker shade of gray with three primary-colored horizontal lines: red, yellow and blue; Eric continues speaking, "They are called wesleys. Get dressed and make your way to the mess hall. Please note that the daily time schedule will not change here at the Lake Org. Proceed," Eric then turns and waddles out the dorm.

.

After breakfast the kids sit in class. Eric whacks the side of his left leg with the riding crop. The classroom door opens and Butters comes walking in.

"Butters, you're fucking late!"

"But I'm five minutes early."

"That's _two_ demerits!"

"Oh, hamburgers."

"This is what I'm talking about, mastering time. The clocks are off; did anybody bother to check them? No. Did Child Butters bother to show up early for class? No. Did any of you Cretans even check on him? No. Clearly more P.E.S.T. work is in order," Eric then walks around his desk and sits down, "Now that you're in the Lake Org, it's time to start practicing helping Hogs. However, since Hogs are not allowed to be a part of training, you'll be practicing on each other. To that end I will have you focus on communication skills, word usage, and interaction with N.a.D.S and Hogs. This new learning scheme is known as Routine Ubiquitous Training. R.U.T. is divided into four parts. The first part is where we'll begin: S.T.A.R.E. – Sitting Together and Remaining Entrenched; in this section you and your siting partner – known as a Doppelgänger – will sit across from each other and stare at each other for two hours, without looking away or speaking. This is all about reaching the top of the Brown Note Scale, wherein you're so confident you can keep your shit together without even trying. You see, Hogs ask stupid questions and have a tendency to just sit and stare at you vapidly, which can cause you to lose confidence and second guess yourself, so practicing being unflinching is important if you hope to tell others about Myentology. So, pick your Doppelgänger, and turn a chair around to face them. When everybody is ready, I'll start the timer."

"I call Kyle," Stan immediately blurts out.

"Tweek," says Butters.

Kids quickly pair off. Looking around, Clyde and Craig see each other.

"Somebody else!" they both exclaim in unison.

"I got you," Kenny says to Clyde.

"Thanks," Clyde says to Kenny.

Wendy looks around and sees everybody taken, that is, until she spots one last free kid: Craig.

Craig says to her, "So, I guess it's just you and me. The only time I can stare at you without being MeToo'ed. I hope you're ready to get lost in these sexy eyes."

"I'll try to contain myself," Wendy says with sarcasm.

With all the kids now paired off and facing each other, Eric looks at the lock and speaks.

"Ready…"

The kids hush up from chatting.

"Set … _GO!_ "

With nobody any longer talking, all that can be heard is the wall-mounted plug-in miniature air conditioner running. Eric walks around quietly, observing the kids. He eventually sits down.

After an hour, Eric gets back up from his desk and start wandering around the kids. He taps a girl on a shoulder; she turns her head to him.

"Yes, E.T.C.?"

"You're not supposed to talk or look away for two hours; you're back to zero," he places a timer on the floor next to her.

He continues walking around. He taps another kid, but the kid doesn't fall for it.

Eric looks at the classroom door when it opens, "Child Craig, look – it's David Hasselhoff!" and then Eric points.

"Really?" Craig says excitedly, looking over and seeing Gerald.

"Aw, you're not supposed to break S.T.A.R.E., remember? Back to zero."

"Argh," Craig huffs.

"No!" Wendy blurts out, immediately covering her mouth.

"Oh, tough luck, Child Wendy," Eric says, laying a timer down for both of them.

Eric goes over to Gerald and they whisper talk for a few minutes. Gerald leans up against the door frame and eat and apple. Eric continues walking around the kids.

Clyde sticks a tongue out at Kenny.

"Excellent work, Child Clyde. Less than one hour to go, Cretans."

Eric sits back down. The room fills with the sound of both Eric and Gerald eating apples. After several minutes Gerald speaks.

"Hey, Kyle, son."

"Yeah, dad?"

"Sorry son, you know the rules; you have to start back over again."

Eric waddles over and sets down a timer.

About an hour later. Eric look at the clock on the wall to see how much time is left for those that didn't start over. With a minute remaining, Eric gets up and waddles to Butters.

"Look, Butters, you only have thirty seconds left of your two hours!"

"Really?" Butters turns to look.

"Oh, gee, Butters, you're not supposed to look away for two hours. Now you'll have to start the two hours over," says Eric.

"Son of a biscuit eater!"

"And your Doppelganger, too."

The other kid moans.

"All right, all of you who don't have restart timers, can take a short break to use the bathrooms and stretch," says Eric.

Two hours later; all the kids sit facing forward, having completed the second R.U.T. where quotes are read from "The Bridges of Madison County".

"Good work, Cretans. Now we'll spend an hour asking weird questions, then it's dinner time. Hogs ask a lot of weird, stupid and pointless questions, which can confuse and surprise Myentologists, so you need to practice getting these questions, so you don't appear to Hogs to be in a Condition of Befuddled. Just blurt out a weird question. I'll start: How come procrastination is the only thing procrastinators don't procrastinate over?"

Clyde jumps in, "Do porn stars fill out 1099's with a job title of _porn star_?"

"Because _shiftless Clyde_ is already taken?" a kid asks from the back.

"Hey," Clyde says back.

Kids laugh.

Kyle joins in, "Do you supposed you could sue if you broke your jaw on a Jawbreaker or would it just be a case of truth in advertising?"

"How much money in Federal grants do you supposed has been spent on finding out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop?" says Stan.

"Do you suppose on the planet of the apes they use the phrase: I'll be a monkey's uncle?" says Wendy.

A random kid speaks, too, "Why is the Pillsbury Doughboy always so happy and helpful to humans that are cooking his people alive?"

"If the Trix bunny can talk, why doesn't he just get a job and buy his own Trix and tell all the kids to fuck off?" Craig asks.

"So exactly what does Winnie the Pooh's name signify?" ask a kid, "I get the name Winnie, but the rest says he's the Pooh. Is Pooh his race? Why would anybody name a race after poop? Is it and honorary title? If so, why a title of honor that means excrement? How come only Winnie has a title? The bumbling fool who sticks his head in beehives. Owl is the wise one."

"Good, good, keep them coming," says Eric.

.

Later on in the evening. The kids stand in line in the mess hall, much like at school, with trays that look suspiciously like the ones from said school. Kenny, Wendy, and Tweek are next up.

"Hey, chefs!" Kenny calls out to Stan and Kyle who are serving the food.

"Hello there, Kenny," Stan says, playing along.

"You know, some Salisbury steak with buttered noodles, and a choice of green bean casserole, or vegetable medley would be really good right now."

"Sorry, all we have is gruel and mystery mush medley," Stan slops some gruel on Kenny's tray."

"We'll join you when the line ends. That's the Oval-Thal dispenser over there. Next," says Kyle.

.

A little over ten minutes later, Kyle and Stan walk up to and sit down in spaces Kenny has saved them.

"I never realized Chef worked so hard," says Kyle.

"Actually, doing a real job rather than talking about it in the assumed abstraction on online message board like some dumbass, will do that to you," says Wendy.

"Where's butters?" Stan asks.

"Still eating with E.T.C.," Kenny says while pointing.

Stand and Kyle look over to see Eric, Gerald, Butters, Craig and Clyde eating at a table together, located on a raised floor, a few steps up, so Eric can look down at them.

"Huh. That privileged table has expanded membership. Why am I thinking _two legs good, four legs bad_?" says Kyle.

"So, they get more food and private table?" asks Stan.

"Commissioner came to the kitchen and said the leadership and ' .s' get more good and served first," says Stan.

Eric and company all eat apples.

.

7:00 pm. Eric walks into the classroom for the final study block.

"Look alive, S.C.U.M.! I see you're all ready to be back in your R.U.T.; in the fourth and final segment. In it you'll ask questions of inanimate objects, expecting an answer but not getting one. When talking to Hogs, their minds get side tracked by shinny tangents easily and well either not answer the the specific question or not even say anything at all because they're too inept to, so you have practice not getting answers until you've come to accept it. This way Hogs will not smell weakness and go on the verbal assault. Child Kyle, paper or plastic?"

"Ahhh … plastic," Kyle says, not sure of the difference.

"Excellent choice. Come with me," Eric motions for Kyle to come up to the front of the room.

Kyle follows Eric to the corner to the left of Eric when he sits at his desk. Once there, Kyle can feel the air blowing from a vent on the floor. Eric hands Kyle a plastic bag and then goes behind his desk and re-positions a fan; he points it at the corner and turns the knob to LOW. He goes back to Kyle, takes the bag, bends over and sets it half a foot from the floor; the bag blows around in the corner, falling and rising.

"What do I say, Commissioner?"

"I can't tell you that, Cretan. You'll think of something. The answer is blowing in the wind, so they say."

Kyle looks and thinks.

Kenny asks the clock on the wall, "What time is it?"

Stan looks at the empty desk chair, "Will you get out of my chair, Obama?"

"Who is John Galt?" a kid asks one of the walls.

"Can I interest you in _Fartenetics_?" Craig asks an empty desk.

"Again: can you tell me the time?" Kenny continues asking the clock.

"Have you been introduced to our acting lord and savior, Adrian Pasdar? So I've been told," says Clyde.

Kyle watches the plastic bad rise and fall while blowing air, "The bag is just dancing with me. It's like there's this benevolent force that wanted me to know I was free. It's like a leaf on the wind and I watch how it flies. Are you a dancing leaf on the wind?"

The bag continues randomly tossing about by the blowing air.

"Can you hear me, plastic bag?" Kyle asks.

As Kyle watches it, Eric yanks the bag out of the air.

"Geez, Child Kyle, it's just a plastic bag," Eric tosses an apple core in and waddles off.

.

After the final study block and cleaning up, Kyle stands next to Eric at the door to the upper floors. Eric finishes his key card out.

"What's the second level, Child Kyle, is the Analyzing Room and P.O.S. adjunct; the second you've not experience yet. And the top floor is my Myentology work room where personal breakthroughs occur during the course of each day."

"Can I see, Commissioner?" asks Kyle.

"Child Kyle, each of the eight levels of Myentology must be methodically studied and eased into in order to prepare you for each subsequent level. My office looks like Ennio Morricone's – work strewn about in what looks like a mess but is really organized disorganized genius in display. Seeing all this information that you have no comprehension of and your brain is ill-prepared to take in, can kill you."

"Oh no."

"You don't want to die, do you?"

"No!"

"I thought so. Trust me, I only have all you S.C.U.M.'s best interest at heart. Now, touch me so I can go to bed."

Kyle puts a finger on one of Eric's arms, "Can you feel that?"

"Yes. Can you feel that?" Eric pokes Kyle in the belly button.

"Yes," Kyle responds.

"Good. Now go to bed."

Eric loses the door on Kyle's face. He climbs up to the second floor and finds Gerald there. They nod to each other, then high five and head up.


	15. Chapter 15

Four days later. The kids are lined up for inspection, which Eric is already doing.

"Water that cowlick back, Child Tweek. Child tom, your Wesley is on backwards."

"But the zipper in on the back, E.T.C.," says the kid.

"The zipper goes deceptively on the front. Aside from a random weaved basket that keeps appearing every day and some Cretan will pay dearly for when I catch him, everything looks good. Good news, Cretans – today is Wednesday. Aside from some time in H.E.L.L., each Wednesday we spend the day celebrating another successful week of Myentology studies by having some fun; graduation for courses completed, certificates, testimonials, and a special video presentation! Hip hip."

"Hooray," Butters says.

Craig joins in, "Hip hip!"

" **HOORAY!** " all the kids shout in unison.

"Now get cleaned up and ready to eat," says Eric.

.

The kids head for the unisex bathroom/shower wing.

"Agh – I can't take these unisex showers anymore, even if we are in beach wear. Wendy keeps making a B-line for me. And the letter _B_ just reminds me of rotated boobs," says Stan.

"Just use the boner corner if you have to; we'll lay cover for you," says Kyle.

"Why can't we just have separate bathrooms? What sensible honest person would object to that?" asks Stan.

"honesty and sensibility don't enter into it; the decision was made for us from the top down without warning, advertisement, or approval; it's over – just use the boner corner," says Kyle.

"This sucks," Stan replies.

"I hear tale there's a corner for that, too," says Kyle.

.

All the kids sit in the former Blainetology theater room; some kids sit on the floor since there is a lack of seating. Eric walks on stage wearing an out-of-date microphone headset like the Sham-Woo commercial guy.

"Welcome and thank you all for coming to the first every Myentology Weekly spectacular!"

Butters and the "M.o.P.s" clap; Butters claps more excitedly.

"Since it's only been a week and there are no course graduations yet, here's special mention of all the Cretans who graduated from the Puddle Org to the Lake Org," he motions up to the projector screen behind him and with a press of a button one a wireless remote, the room lights dim and video plays. A slide show of Elementary School year book photos of all the kids in the room plays while the cue _The Thorn Room_ from "Star Wars: A New Hope" plays. One clip has Craig and Clyde Photoshopped together side-by-side.

When it's done, the lights go back up and the "M.o.P.s" clap again, spurring kids who begin to feel singled out and awkward, to clap, too. Butters bounces in his seat even more excitedly and clapping louder than before.

"Give yourselves a round of applause – you're all awesome!"

All the kids clap, not minding applauding themselves.

"Wow, nobody's ever said I'm awesome before, not even my parents!" says Tweek.

"And now a video and picture montage of Ranch Seasoning, before and after, to showcase what we leave behind," Eric again steps aside and the lights dim.

For a few minutes they watch the montage, set to the song _The Way You Look Tonight_. One of Kyle's eyes twitches and he feels cold shivers go down his back while he sees the lake and again the wall. Finally, it ends and the lights go up.

"Thanks to your P.E.S.T. work, Ranch Seasoning is now Sloppy Toppings – the premiere pig raising and slaughtering farm. To think – you all ate from that very same trough. Give those future Bacon 'n' Bits a round of applause!"

More people clap now. Butters shakes with so much excitement he shoots up like a bottle rocket and claps furiously for a few seconds and then tosses his arms up and does _the wave_. Finally, after many seconds when he notices nobody else has joined him, he stops.

"And as a reward, I shall read some cowboy poetry followed by selected quotes from 'The Bridges of Madison County'. Ahem," he clears his throat, "I Wish I Knew How to Quit You, by…"

.

Almost an hour later, Kyle is awakened when his head smacks the seat in front of him from having fallen asleep and fallen forward. He sits back up dazed and wipes drool from his chin.

Clyde turns around, "Would you and my seat like to get a room?"

A random kid says in a low voice to another, "Clyde just asked Kyle if he'd like his seat in a room; pass it on…"

"And now for a new honor, Child of the Week; in recognition each week, in the service of Myentology, we honor one of you. In this bowl," he reaches over to a fish bowl on a step stool next to him, "I have three crumpled up pieces of paper with the names of three of you who all deserve the honor, but only one will get. And the winner is…" he reaches into the bowl, pulls out a waded piece of paper and un-crumples it to reveal a Chinese fortune cookie clips with the sentence: Fortune not found: Abort? Retry? Ignore?

"Child butters! Come up here!"

"Yaaayyy! Yaaayyy! Yaaayyy!" Butters runs up and stands by Eric, smiling wide.

"For you tireless COP work, and for your mastering of _penis_ and helping me with my C.O.C., you're this week's winner!"

"Gosh golly, Commissioner!"

"Gosh golly indeed. Smile for the camera," Eric walks in front of Butters with an old 1980's-style Polaroid camera he pulled out of the podium's cozy and takes a picture of Butters.

The picture spits out and Eric takes it and shakes it. He then writes the date on the bottom portion.

"Congrats. This will be pinned to the wall in the Hall of All Honored Associates Helping Allies."

"Fantastic!"

"And you may sit down now," says Eric.

"Okay," Butters goes back to his seat.

"Let's take a thirty-minute bathroom break. Failure to flush is one demerit."

The kids start to get up and walk to the exit door.

.

Ten or so minutes later; Stan, Kenny, Kyle and Clyde hang out in the hall.

"I got a theory, Kenny," says Clyde.

"Your theory cup runneth over," says Kenny.

"Instead of having a winner and a bunch of losers, they created a system of people who didn't lose as badly so more awards and medals could be sold. Let's face it, unless it's a silver medal from the Olympics, body cares if you came in second or even third place. What use is a cheap second-place bowling tournament trophy other than to regale your friends about that _one_ time you _almost_ won? Nobody else cares. All it does is sit there out of sight of the rest of humanity, collecting dust until one day twenty years later when you're on your fourth or fifth move you finally look at it and decide this is the year you're finally going to throw it away. Unless relatives come to visit or you get a girlfriend you really want to impress. It's all a scheme to make lots of money selling cheap plastic trophies with gold-colored paint and reflective shiny things to dazzle the holder's eyes."

"So, if Commissioner gives you an award…"

"I'll take it. What else am I going to use to help me maybe get laid one night at my inevitable ultra-cool bachelor pad?"

"Charm?"

"I have a new theory: you're an Obamahole."

"Hey, I have a theory, too," Kenny shoots back.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Kenny, you need to hang with us more often; Clyde's a bad influence," says Stan.

"Is that so? Well, I've got theories to go all around!" says Clyde.

.

The last of the kids sit back down in the theater presentation room.

"All right," Eric speaks again with the headset, "Now that you're all seated, it's time to go back to H.E.L.L.; today we'll be focusing on the kitchen and halls for the next three hours. After that, more Wednesday fun! Now scrub-a-dub-dub."

The image flips to Kyle spraying and wiping the main hall wall.

"Wipe that spot again, Child Kyle," says Eric.

"Wiping that spot again, boss."

"Good. Now wipe that other spot."

"Wiping that other spot, boss."

"Good. Keep wiping it."

As Kyle wipes the wall more, Eric walks around him, eyeballing the wall from different angles.

"What is _this?_ " Eric asks.

"Ahhh … the wall?" Kyle asks.

"What is _that?_ " Eric says pointing at another spot.

Kyle looks, looks at Eric, then looks at the spot Eric is pointing to again, thinking he's perhaps missed something, "Ah, still the wall?"

"Better wipe it to make sure."

"Wipin' it, boss."

"No, no, no, you're wiping randomly up and down. You gotta do it like the karate kid. Wipe on," he motions with a hand in a counter clockwise motion, "Wipe off," he changes direction to clockwise, "Now you do it. Wipe on."

"Wiping on, boss."

"Now wipe off."

Kyle reverses the circular motion, "Wiping off, boss."

"Next spot. Wipe on.

"Wiping on, boss."

"And now wipe off."

"Wiping off, boss."

Gerald walks by. He stops and puts a hand on the wall to prop himself up while looking down; he eats an apple.

"Looking good, son."

"Thanks, dad."

"Executive Director. One Demerit."

"Thank you, Executive Director."

"No problem," Gerald takes his hand off to reveal a dirty hand print with apple juice and loose bits.

"Stain at twelve o'clock, Child Kyle. Stop stool, Child Tweek, "Eric orders.

"On it, Commissioner!"

"Missed a spot," Eric points to another place on the wall.

.

Later on that day. All the kids are seated in the theater room again, already into listening to Eric speaking.

"And what's your favorite part of being a 'M.o.P', Child Clyde?"

"The responsibility, trust, and of course the power over other people my age."

"Good, good. Rockin' those estradas, Cretan."

"I know it," Clyde says full of sell-assurance as he walks off stage.

"Okay, who'd like to give a testimonial next?" he looks around for hands.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" Butters shouts, waiving a hand wildly.

"Yes, Child Butters, come on down!"

"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" Butters runs up to and hops up upon the stage.

"Here, put this doucheset on, "Eric hands Butters a spare headset, "So, Child butters, tell all the Cretans what Myentology has done for you."

"Why, ah, I used to be a never-do-well, as my parents like to say, but now help others and hold a position of power!"

"Winning!" says Eric.

"And I was sick, but _Fartenetics_ cured me."

"Wow, that _two_ ; you're bi-winning."

"Yeah, I'm totally bi!" Butters exclaims.

Clyde snickers.

"I'm like a high-priest warlord."

"Tell us more."

"Why, ah, everyday I wake up and I'm just banging seven-ounce Oval-Thal's all day. I have one speed, one gear – GO!"

"You got tiger blood, man," says Eric.

"Yeah! I'm like some fine tiger in the prairie long grass, kissin' the wild fires of my rockin' soul! Back off with your judgement!"

"Winning! All you Cretans could learn from Child Butters; his tiger blood is helping to Translucate him. Anything else, Child Butters?"

"Yeah! I'm on a drug, it's called Butters Stotch. It's not available because if you try it once you will die; your face will melt off and your droopy-eyed children will weep over your exploded body! **KA-PLOUIEEE!** "

"Okay, you can sit down now," Eric says, followed quickly by him clapping so as to distract all the kids from the awkwardness of the exchange. Other kids start clapping, spurred on by all three "M.o.P.s" clapping.

"Okay, Cretans, it's eight thirty - passed dinner time, so clean up, eat, and go to bed. Tomorrow is another glorious day of Myentology."

"Hip hip!" Butters yells.

"Hooray," all the kids say.

"Hip hip!" Butters yells again.

"Hooray!" they all yell back.

The kids start exiting the room quickly.

"I'm so excited I could burst out in song! Who wants to spontaneously burst out into song with me?! Fine, I'll start: Butters – his Cretan's nice and clean. Butters – he smells like Listerine. Butters, there are no others, so…" Butters voice grows more quiet as he vanishes down the hall.

Eric whistles after collecting a few items and heading for the exit. When he walks out the exit, he finds Wendy waiting outside.

"Ah, Child Wendy, how can your master and commander help you?"

"I want to be a 'M.o.P', too."

"I thought you were unhappy with R.C.M.P. duty."

"I was, but now I want special privileges."

"Hum, sounds like you want to take the P.I.S.S. as well."

"No, I can hold it until we're done talking," says Wendy.

"You misunderstand; it's a acronym for: Prominent Individuals Servicing the Scheme."

"Can I be taking the P.I.S.S., too?"

"Well, I kind of already have all the 'M.o.P.s' I need right now, but if you're okay with taking the P.I.S.S. at odd hours, stopping and going, stopping and going…"

"As long as I get more food and the same privileges as the other 'M.o.P.s', I'm okay with infrequent P.I.S.S. taking."

"Welcome about, Child Wendy."

"Thank you, Commissioner. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to take an actual piss."


	16. Chapter 16

Saturday. The kids sit in class already back in their R.U.T. doing S.T.A.R.E. with their doppelgangers.

"Looking good, S.C.U.M.; it's now been one hour, so one more remaining. Remember: you can't talk or break your starring or you'll have to start all over again," Eric warns them.

After a few minutes Gerald walks over to Kyle.

"Kyle, son, your mom found that picture of you naked in the tub when you were two and is sharing it on Istagram!"

Kyle doesn't react at all.

"Huuummm, not falling for it, are you? Think you're getting too smart for your old man, do you? Us more seasoned people have more decades of tricks up our sleeves. We'll see…"

Some more minutes pass. Eric gets up and eyeballs the room for victims; he walks up to Wendy.

"Hey, Child Wendy. So … I've been thinking a lot lately about your boobs. Um hum," he takes a bite of an apple, "Just can't get those itsy bitsy teenie weenie raisons out of my mind. I just wanna reach and get two scoops. Yeah, bet if I squeeze 'em they're like two small water balloons with only enough water in them that doesn't require inflating them. They're like those things boxers use in all the movies, only small enough for babies to practice on. I call 'em nature's lollipops. Sometimes I sit there and I imagine how many licks it would take to get to the—"

"GAH! Shut up!" Wendy yells.

"Oh, man, too bad Child Wendy, you'll have to start the two hours all over again," he bends over and sets a timer on the floor, "For your information, I get my jollies via the Victoria's Secret catalogue just like every other boy my age. Or the K-Mart circular for those who can't afford a catalogue, right Child Kenny?"

Kenny furls his brow, holding back from commenting.

Eric sits back down and watches them.

Chewing a bite of an apple, Gerald walks up to Kyle, "You know, your mom and I have been thinking about sending Shelley here for the summer. Wouldn't that be great?"

Kyle doesn't react.

"She could be your new doppelganger. Isn't that right. E.T.C.?"

"Um hum," Eric acknowledges Gerald.

"Hey, you two could be bunk mates!" Gerald adds.

Kyle begins to grimace, but not look away.

"Yeah, I should have known that wouldn't work; you're too cool-for-school, as we used to say back in my day," Gerald says underhandedly, trying to give Kyle an over-inflated ego.

Eric finally gets up and walks in amongst the desks. He finally stops at a random kid.

"Remember, don't lose focus, Child Jake…"

Eric moves up close to one of the kids legs and unzips his pants; he begins peeing on the kid's leg, "I'm totally Obamaing all over your leg and telling you it's raining. Yup…" he shakes it side-to-side, "It's like Waltzing Waters over here. OH – it's getting in your shoe."

"No! Not in my shoe!" the kid yells.

"Oh, gee, you're not supposed to break, Child Jake. Back to zero," Eric says as he starts a timer and sets it down.

The kid shakes with anger. Eric continues eating an apple as he makes his way back to his desk.

"A little less leering and more S.T.A.R.E., Child Clyde and Child Craig."

Clyde clenches his teeth in anger.

Gerald walks back over to Kyle, "You know, son, I knew you wouldn't fall for that; your mother wouldn't use a site like Instagram. And if I said your sister was going to do it, you know we'd ground her if she did. I, however…" Gerald pulls out an iPhone, "am you father and if I did, say, have that photo of you," he fiddles with the phone, "and I had a social media site, like a MySpace page, I could post it online _just_ … _like_ … _this_ ," he holds the phone to the left of Kyle's face.

"What? No!" Kyle blurts out as he looks over quickly. He sees on the screen a meme of a monkey with the old phrase. Monkey's Always Look.

Eric walks over.

"Oh-ho, burn! Adults are smarter than your average Cretan, Booboo," says Gerald.

"And by the way," Eric comments, "Since Executive Director is the legal aide of the city, he can carry an electronic device so he can be reached in the event of a legal emergency. Child Kyle, "Eric says while holding up the toilet paper dispenser hat, "you're needed for some important C.R.A.P. right now."

.

Stan and Kyle lie in their bunk beds, trying to fall asleep.

"One hour on the toilet? You'd think he was glued to it. I think you've found your Hat in Life," says Stan quietly to Kyle.

"Thursday, during Shore Leave, I hugged my bedroom pillow and didn't want to leave it," says Kyle.

"Me too. I'm starting to understand Charlie Brown's friend Linus now. I hope we get to the helping part soon," Stan replies.

"Yeah."

.

Monday. All the kids are lined up for inspection.

"Good, Child Wendy. Adjust your weslies, Child Tweek, so the primary color bands are more horizontal to the ground. Oh my my my, Child Kyle, not good."

"What, Commissioner?" Kyle asks.

"First of all: your hair is too puffy."

"Hard water deposits are wreaking havoc on my fluff, Commissioner."

"Don't make excuses. Your weslies zipper isn't all the way up, and with that crease on that pant leg, I'm getting no thrills up any of my legs. Do I need to give you _more_ C.R.A.P., Child Kyle?"

"I can do better, Commissioner," Kyle replies.

"I seem to recall hearing that one before. Now, get cleaned up for breakfast."

.

Kyle and Stan dish out food in the cafeteria.

"Come down and chew on some of this shi…" Stan trails off mid word, "No … I've become lunch dude; bitter, uncaring and slopping out Michele-Obahma approved food. And I'm forced to be single. Fuck – I'm not even forty yet."

Wendy shows up next in line to be served.

"Hey, Stan."

"Hey, Wendy, I say to anybody in earshot, in a strictly plutonic way."

"Notice anything different?" she asks him.

Stan really looks this time, beforehand paying more attention to dishing out the food, "You're a 'M.o.P.' now?"

"Yes, part time, but I'm still entitled to extra food, so keep dishing."

"Then you're like them, you're no longer down here with us," says Stan.

"I've moved on, Stan. This is my post now, unless you want to re-think our relationship status."

"You know I can't, the rules. You remember my _forbidden love_ speech?"

"Yeah, I gave it a Razzie. It's either going to be me or not be me. Pick."

"Or me," Craig interjects.

"Not him. Well?"

"I don't know," says Stan.

"Well the clock's ticking – you better figure it out," Wendy replies and moves on ahead.

.

Eric exits the door leading to the upper floors and finds Kyle waiting for him.

"Ah, Child Kyle; ready for some more C.R.A.P.?"

"Yes, Commissioner," Kyle says almost like a robot.

"Good, carry my things to the re-education room. What is on your mind?"

"You said there were levels to Myentology; how many again?"

"An initial eight levels before Cretans can become fully Translucent and reach a Condition of All Bars."

"And then I can start helping other Hogs?"

"Maybe. My deep and contemplative thinking has revealed there may be even more!"

Kyle doesn't blink and stares out with an empty look as he follows Eric to class.

.

A little later during class.

"Okay, S.C.U.M., it's been a while since we did any Word hurdling."

"Yay! Exciting and brave!" Butters claps, causing the other "M.o.P.S" to join in.

"I know you like it. Today's word is: _Floccihavcinihilipilification_. So, can anybody tell me how to use _floccihavcinihilipilification_ in a sentence? Bueller? Bueller? Pip's not missed ghost? Anybody?"

Kenny raise a hand.

"Wow, really?"

.

Some more time passes.

"Okay, before you begin your fourth R.U.T., I'd like to announce an exciting new option for those who think they aren't in enough of R.U.T. – the R.U.T.-in' Pro course! Normally a forty-dollar value, it can be yours now for just nineteen-ninety-nine! Anybody? Learn how to be in a life time R.U.T. if you act now – just twenty bucks."

Nobody answers.

.

Eric and Butters push in a lamp with snaking positionable heads on a movable TV stand. Eric positions the lamp directly behind his chair as Butters plugs it in. Eric sits down and Butters re-takes his seat as well. Eric holds out a remote and presses a button, turning on four lights.

"Now you shall begin R.U.T. three. 'M.o.P.' butters, the three lights behind me … how many do you see?"

"Why, ah, three lights, dear leader!"

"Very good. 'M.o.P.' Clyde, how many lights do you see?"

"Three lights, E.T.C.."

"Good. 'M.o.P.' Craig, how many lights do you see?"

"Three, Commish."

"Good. Child Stan, how many lights do you see?"

"Ahhh … three, Commissioner?" Stan says a little confused about what the point is.

"Good. Child Kyle, how many lights?"

"I don't think I understand the point of this, Commissioner," says Kyle.

"I didn't ask you to think, I asked you how many lights you see."

"There are four lights, Commissioner."

"I don't understand how you can make such a mistake. Clearly you have Overts and Holdbacks. Shall we begin again? How many lights are there?"

Kyle looks confused, contorting his face and counting again, then replies, "There are four lights, Commissioner."

"There are _three lights!_ How many do you see now?" Eric demands.

"But, Commissioner, I only-"

"Huh! How dare you question dear leader!" Butters exclaims.

"That's four demerits, but you can avoid those and BALLS, Child Kyle."

"What do I have to do?" Kyle asks.

"Nothing, really. Tell me … how many lights do you see?"

Kyle looks.

"How many? How many lights?" Eric asks again.

Kyle keeps looking. He shakes a little and an eye winces repeatedly.

"This is your last chance. Don't be a stubborn fool. Stay on the Bridge to Somewhere to help others."

Kyle stops shaking, the eye ceases, and a look of compliant apathy washes over his face.

"There are three lights, Commissioner."

"Good…"

.

Some time passes. Kyle sits, holding the cups of the S-Meter to his nipples.

"Are you hungry?" Eric asks.

"No."

"Good. Are you tired?"

"No."

"Good. Is there any reason not to start this invasiveness?"

"No."

"Good. Any Overts to report?"

"No."

Eric looks at the needle and then Kyle but decides to move on. "Good. Any Holdbacks?"

"No."

"Nope, nope," Eric says, not satisfied this time, "You needle has gone down faster than a five-dollar crack whore. Any Holdbacks?"

"No."

"Hum. The S-Meter must need calibrating. Just to be sure, we'll try POS; the Playdough Ordering Scheme, where you make things out of playdough to reveal your dirty Cretan."

Eric sets up a TV dinner tray and places a tub of Caucasian-colored dough on it. He opens it and sets the dough in the center.

"I want you to envision the dough in three parts: the Cretan, the person, and the Translucent. Break it into three pieces and make one bitter than the others."

Kyle does so.

"Roll the two smaller pieces into balls, imagining you are working your Cretan and person."

Kyle does just that.

"Now place them side-by-side, to symbolize the internal struggle of the two. Now work the third piece; imagine you are trying to push out the O/H's."

"Yes, Commissioner."

"Good. Any Holdbacks to report?"

"No, Commissioner."

"Work it harder. Place it flat and roll it like a breadstick."

Kyle does so.

"Get those O/H's out of you potential translucent! Found any Holdbacks yet?"

"No, I … I-"

"Time to get rough with this Holdback; stand it up alongside your balls. Wet your hands," Eric says and pours some water on Kyle's hand, from a bottle, "And go up and down your Translucent to expel those O/H's!"

Kyle does so.

"Faster!"

"Yes, Commissioner!"

" _Faster!_ "

"Yes, Commissioner!"

"firmer! Squeeze those O/H's out!"

" _Yes, Commissioner!_ "

"Release those O/H's!"

" **OOOHHH!** I stole fruit in a previous life!"

"Winning! Okay, you can leave now."

"Really?"

"Yes, a Winning ends Analyzing. Cretans have O/H's from previous lives. Clean up."

Eric hands Kyle a towel and then leaves the room. Kyle just sits there not blinking. The top of the playdough Translucent falls off onto the TV dinner tray stand.


	17. Chapter 17

Tuesday morning. A bear walks by the compound with a child-sized stomach bulge as "M.o.P." Wendy rides a tricycle (that looks like a "C.H.i.P.s" motorcycle) by it.

Kyle uses a metal coat hanger to break up shit in a toilet as Eric stand nearby.

"Man, I can't believe I took another shit _that_ big again; I thought it was like Haley's comet – once in a lifetime event. Remember to flush small chunks."

"Yes, Commissioner," Kyle then flushes the toilet.

Eric continues eating an apple, "Child Kyle, you seem to be in a Condition of Befuddled; how can I de-fuddle you?"

"Well, Commissioner, I really want to help people but I'm nowhere near All Bars and I'm still stuck on Level One."

"Child Kyle, I haven't told anybody this, bit two or three of you have been advancing faster than the other Cretans. Right now you're in Level Two, but I think you're ready to know a little taste of Level Three. Do you want to taste it?"

"I thought you said a Cretan could die from such on unprepared huge load of knowledge, Commissioner."

"Don't worry, Cretan, I promise to pull out before by brain stem, explodes synaptic activity all over your delicate soft tissue."

"I'm ready to take it."

"Very well, Child Kyle. Brace for impact: 69 billion years ago, the galactic evil overlord Darth Xena, banished Cretans to Earth to help with sustainability problems of Xeandon. Cretans created all our ills and must be shaped to be mutual."

Kyle says nothing and flushes the toilet.

"Okay, that appears to be all the snaking thick turd rope. Now, just clean it to H.E.L.L. standards and then I think you're ready for some more C.R.A.P.; after all you've handled this C.R.A.P. really well. Executive Director," Eric yells out.

Gerald enters the bathroom.

"Take over for me while I handle important Myentology business."

"No problem – I learned to handle things a long time ago," Gerald replies.

Eric leaves the unisex bathroom.

"Make sure you get under the rim real well, Child Kyle; cherry bombs aren't the only things that go off in toilets."

.

Eric sits next to a strange man in the theater auditorium. A film ends and the lights come back up.

"Well, Mark, what did you think of my film, 'Myentology: World Salvation'?" Eric asks the man.

"Well … it was certainly different."

"Yeah."

"So, what did you have in mind for the music? Electronic? Traditional orchestral?" Mark asks.

"You're the award-winning film composer. I figure I'll leave you to do what you do best with no input, especially since I have no idea how music functions in a film. Then I'll show up unexpectedly at the dub to make the verdict."

"Oh," Mark says in a worried voice, "what's the budget again?"

"Three hundred dollars. And I'll need the score completed in less than twenty-four hours."

"Gee, I don't kn-"

"Excellent. See you in twenty-four hours," Eric waddles out of the auditorium.

.

Kenny and Clyde clean together in the bunkbeds room. Clyde unzips his weslies and pulls out parts of an un-assemble basket and quickly puts it together and then shoves it behind a lamp table; he quietly zips back up.

"What?" Clyde feigns outrage, "Another basket? Kenny, another freaking basket!" pulling in out to show Kenny.

"Really?"

"Yep. I have a theory: there are basket gnomes that come out at night and after stealing your car keys and socks, leave baskets."

"But there are underwear gnomes," says Kenny.

"Huh?" Clyde says, taken aback.

"Yeah, we met them. Kind of assholes."

"What kind of weird shit do the four of you do to encounter all this bizarreness?"

"Most of the time we're just minding our own business," Kenny replies.

"Honestly, Kenny," Clyde puts his hands on his hips, "I could mind my business until the day I die," he says s some underwear gnomes open a bunkbed drawer and climb in, "and never see underwear gnomes," he continues; a gnome climbs back down the others with two socks, as Clyde speaks "If I were to turn around _right now_ ," says Clyde while taking his hands off his hips and turning his body before his head, "All I would see is the bunkbeds," he says as he looks. Just as he does, the underwear gnomes disappear in a small hole in the base of the wall.

"Look!" Kenny says pointing at the hole.

"What – the hole?" Clyde looks, "Yeah, it's utterly fascinating, Kenny. You know what comes out of holes in the wall? Cockroaches and mice. Seriously – underwear gnomes? Pft, leave the conspiratorial theories up to me."

"Agh!" Kenny says in frustration.

.

Later in R.U.T., Stan looks around after all the kids have sat down and doesn't see Wendy. Eric enters and waddles to his desk.

"All right, S.C.U.M., time to get back into your R.U.T.; yesterday's T.P.S. graphs were satisfactory, so-"

Stan raises a hand.

"Yes, Child Stan?"

"Commissioner, where's Wendy?"

"M.o.P." Wendy has been put on post duties so to as avoid any further possible Overts and Holdbacks. Some Cretans here are Tempestuous and borderline NADS, so removing the temptation restores order. Let's do some more Word Hurdling. Can anybody use _Parastratiousphecomylastratiousphecomyiodides_ in a sentence?"

Kenny raises a hand.

"You're kidding," says Eric.

.

Some time passes.

"Okay, let's begin R.U.T. 3 – weird questions. Using this box of un-wanted yard sale items, make weird questions related to the item you pulled out. Come up and collect," says Eric.

All the kids each get something. They stand around examining their items.

"Begin."

Clyde looks at a plastic piece of decorative corn, "If Jimmy cracks corn and nobody cares, why is there a stupid song about him?"

Wendy look at a naked old "Jem and Holograms" doll, "Are you truly truly truly outrageous?"

Craig looks at an old coffee cup, "Is the nest part of waking up Folgers in your cup?"

Clyde continues, "Was my joe corny?"

Kyle looks at a yellow rubber duck, "Rubber ducky, are you number one?"

In the background we see Kenny looking at an empty box; he turns it upside down and shakes it, but nothing comes out. He then whacks it.

"Rubber ducky, do you make bath time lots of fun?"

Kyle stares back at the small squeezable rubber duck with eyes just as empty and nearly as lifeless.

.

Some more time passes by. Gerald watches and eats an apple as he overseas H.E.L.L..

Kyle cleans a window near the guest area. Gerald walks over and starts eyeballing Kyle's work.

"Child Kyle, what's taking so long to clean a window?"

"Sorry, Executive Director, it's really dirty, like it's never been cleaned before."

"Scrub harder."

"I'm trying, but it's like the Windex is a knock-off that's been watered down."

"Is that a fucking excuse? Did you just give me a goddamn excuse?"

"Ahhh…" Kyle says, not sure what to say.

"Ahhh? Is that the best mother fucking response out of all the Goddamn fucking English there is? And listen to that Goddamn mother fucking tone, so fucking weak; no Goddamn assurance. This is the longest mother fucking window cleaning in the history of mother fucking window cleaning! And look at your Goddamn hair; all shitty and out of compliance. It's Goddamn hair, not mother fucking science. You grab the mother fucker of a hair brush and your brush your Goddamn shitty hair! End of the mother fucking story! All these other sons of bitches brush their fuckin' hair."

Bebe and Tolken, who had stopped at the guest door to visit and check Myentology out, hear all this, look freaked out, and quickly walk off quickly, with Bebe already pulling out her phone to post about it online.

"Your mother fuckin' weslies are all out of gorram sort. Those fucking Goddamn horizontal primary colors are fucking slanted. And pluckies; all those Goddamn pluckies. Look at all those sons of bitches! It's mother fucking plucky Heaven! Are you breeding those mother fuckers? Gonna re-home them on fuckin' Craigslist? There's more mother fucking wrinkles on then than Gordon Ramsay's mother fucking face. The iron must be next to the Goddamn plucky shaver. Are you giving that mother fucking a tantric clean? Why is it so Goddamn slow? You peel Goddamn potatoes at a faster speed. And both those speeds are fuckin' slow. When you walk it's like the break time in-between events at mother fuckin' Special Olympics; one mother fucking slow foot in front of the other mother fucking slow foot. That son of a bitch friend of yours is always slowing you two Goddamn Cretans down. Now there's the mother fucker of mother fuckers; everybody in here avoided fucking B.A.L.L.S. but him. Both of you are going to end up side-by-side of B.A.L.L.S. at this Goddamn pace. The journey of a Goddamn thousand miles begins with one fucking step but at this shitty speed this son of a bitch is going to take mother fuckin' forever! Imagine if some mother fucker walked in here right now and saw this Goddamn tortoise race – they'd think they were in mother fuckin' Burger King and not the home office of Myentology. Fuck, look at the bottom half of your Goddamn weslies – no Goddamn crease at all; I'm getting no mother fucking thrills up either my Goddamn legs! The thrill is gone! Gone, Cretan, gone. Gone with the mother fucking wind. And look at those Goddamn shoelaces; why is one mother fuckin' loop bigger than the other son of a bitch? On both Goddamn shoes. Was the mother fuckin' rabbit drunk when it went in and out the Goddamn hole each time? And look at those shitty shoes – sons of bitches aren't even perfectly clean. Your shoes look like they've been cleaned by a Goddamn Epileptic Tiny mother fucking Tim. And your mother fucking hair is all puffy and shit. Maybe you'd like one of those Goddamn puffy fuckin' 'Seinfeld' shirts to go with that son of a bitch atop your head. Yeah, you can put it in your fucking disorganized bunkbed drawer, which I'm giving you a demerit for. You forgot to fold your mother fucking socks, too. And look at those Goddamn mother fucking eyebrows, they're-"

"Okay – I get it," Kyle interrupts him.

"Good, that's what I was waiting to hear you say. Carry on," Gerald walks off.

Kyle freezes in place. The view slowly moves in on his face and his un-blinking eyes. As we get close to his face, we can see his head shaking like a hand would in cold temperatures. Finally, the slow forward move stops and we primarily see only his still un-blinking eyes. The bear with the child-sized bulge in its stomach passes by the window and we hear a wooden branch snap. Kyle blinks; he then drops the bottle and cleaning rag and walks away. He stops by Butters.

Kyle pats butters on the back after moving in closely, "You're doing a good job, Butters."

"Gosh, thank you, Kyle. Why, none of this would be possible if not for dear leader."

Kyle shakes nervously some, "I'm going to use the bathroom," he says and then walks off.

.

Kyle sits up quietly in the top bunk. He cautiously eases to the ladder and climbs down quietly. He opens a bunkbed drawer and pulls out his backpack of already packed items – what few he was even allowed to have – and quietly slips out of the dorm.

Kyle reaches a locked side entrance door. He takes out Butters' key card that he swiped earlier during H.E.L.L. and slides it in the card reader. The light turns green and he exits the complex. Once out he quickly makes his way around the building. He walks aside the old red tractor and peaks around it; not seeing anybody, he starts sneaking behind it and then away from the complex.

As Kyle walks, Stan runs up behind him and lunges at Kyle, knocking him down.

"Stan," Kyle says surprised.

"Kyle, where are you going?"

"Ahhh … a walk."

"Bullshit – you're bolting. You got you pack."

"I'm on a rescue mission to find Breanna," Kyle says like he's asking a question, trying to see if the excuse will stick.

"You're not going anywhere," says Stan.

"Agh – let go! I have to go home and change my cloths!"

"That doesn't even make sense."

"I'll write you a post card explaining it!"

They both struggle and tussle with each other.

"You're not leaving. You know why? Because you drug me into this!" Stan bellows, shaking Kyle by his weslies. He stops and Kyle ceases resisting when they see a patrol trike headlight shine on them.

Wendy walks up in her estradas.

"Stan, Kyle, what are you two doing out here art this time?"

"Ahhh … hunting manbearpig?" Stan asks in the tone of a question.

"How'd you even get out here without tripping the alarm?" Wendy asks.

"I borrowed Butters' key card," Kyle confesses.

"That's where it went! Commissioner's has been furious and having the 'M.o.P.s' looking everywhere. Give it to me; I'll tell him I found it while patrolling. Come on you two, I'll sneak you back in."

Kyle and Stan walks side-by-side as Wendy peddles behind them.

"I don't know how much more I can take," says Kyle.

"We'll give it one more week," Stan says back, "I overheard Butters say there might be missionary work soon."

"Good. If I don't help someone son, I'm going to explode."

"We'll just have to keep calm and not let anything distract us," Stan replies.

"Nice ass, Stan," Wendy calls out.


	18. Chapter 18

The lights go up in the theater room.

"So, what did you guys think of the 'Team Myentology' film?" Eric asks Gerald and the "M.o.P.S.".

"there's so much happening," Wendy comments.

"Yeah, the music, too. Is Mark here?" Gerald looks over at Mark, "Most of Mark's stuff is too busy. We're going to have to redo almost all of it I think.

Mark looks on nervously and fidgets.

"So, something slow and lethargic," Eric comments.

"Maybe Philip Glass," Clyde suggests.

"Good, good," says Eric.

"How about a Philip Glass knock off?" Craig suggests.

"Even better; half the price, same monotony," Eric praises Craig.

"What about John Debney? He's hot right now," Gerald suggests.

"Guys, I could do a new batch of cues to meet your vision. I'm a highly talented and versatile composer."

"I guess," says Eric.

"And then we can dismiss them out-of-hand and higher John Debney, right?" Gerald asks.

"Nah, we blew the budget. All in favor of rejecting Mark's score and replacing it with random barely-fitting generic library cues, say yay."

"Yay," all of them say in unison.

"Oh, gee, sorry Mark, the test audience has spoken; I'm shit-canning your rushed, intricate, heart and soul effort. Maybe I'll call you again when I need a rushed last-minute score on little to no budget; bye," Eric tosses the master tapes to the score in a trash can and exits the room with everyone else.

Mark stares out with a look of being resigned to his fate. After several seconds he blinks. He gets up and quietly reaches down into the trash container to retrieve the tapes. Just as he touches them, the door flies open.

"Hey asshole! Stop trying to steal my recycling money!" Eric yells out and slams the door shut again.

.

Eric closes the door to the Analyzing Room.

"What's up, Commissioner?" Butters asks.

"Sit down, Butters. Put the cups on your nipples while I fiddle with my knob."

"Wait, why am I getting Analyzed?"

"Just do it."

"Holy Jeebus they're cold."

"Butters, you're causing the needle to jump around."

"I can't help it, I've got sensitive nipples."

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Are you tired?"

"Kind of; I had trouble sleeping last night because of that gosh-darned missing key card."

"Get over it. And clam the fuck down, you're flipping the needle wildly."

"I'm trying; I'm nervous and my man nips are sticking out."

"Ugh. Is there any reason not to start this invasiveness?"

"My sensitive nipples?"

"Fuck your sensitive nipples! Who did you give that key card to?"

"Nobody; I know the rules and punishments."

"Then how did it go missing?"

"Why, I don't know."

"It didn't grow arms and legs and free itself from its neck strap."

"I suppose not, though we do live in a town with talking poo, a walking talking towel, and-"

"Oh, so Wendy only _imagined_ finding it?"

"No."'

"Liar!" Eric bellows. Thunder rumbles in the distance. "Look at your S.E.R.F. needle!"

"No, bad needle; stop moving!" Butters blurts out nervously.

"It's you who's been leaving all those fucking baskets everywhere, _isn't it?!_ "

"No, I've only been finding them, I swear it!"

"I don't believe you. You're a Class One Tally Whacker!"

"Oh no, that sounds bad," says Butters.

"How often have you whacked your tally?"

"I don't even know what that means!"

"Your needle is so wild its feral; it might as well be praying the inside of the S-Meter. Butters, you're in a condition of Never-Do-Well."

"Oh no!"

"You and your sensitive nips are in cahoots with a vast Right-wing conspiracy and basket makers to bring down Myentology. Well, I'm on to you all."

"Commissioner, you're just being paranoid."

"Get out of here while I decide what your punishment is."

"Okay. I guess now wouldn't be a good time to tell you I found another basket, would it?"

"Leave!"

.

As Eric minutes later exits the door to the restricted upper floors, he once again finds Kyle waiting for him. Eric loses the door.

"Ah, Child Kyle, out of toilets to clean, I see…"

"Commissioner, I need something … anything to keep me on the Bridge to Somewhere. I find my faith wavering."

Eric pauses for a second in thought, then responds, "Child Kyle, I have just the thing for you. Hold on, I'll be right back.

Eric slides his key card in the reader; the light turns green and the door unlocks. When it shuts behind him, the light goes back to being red.

After a couple of minutes the door opens back up and Eric walks out with a book in hand.

"Child Kyle, remember how I told you that you were advancing faster than most Cretans? Well, I think you're ready for this."

"For what, Commissioner?"

"At the end of your final Analyzing ever, Cretans would be given a copy of this book; after such breakthroughs a Cretan is then and only then able to comprehend the revelations inside. I think you're ready. Executive Director is upstairs studying Myentology; knock and he'll come down to get the book when you're done."

Eric waddles off.

Kyle looks at the plain cover that simply reads in all capital letters: THE KITTENS. He opens the book and sees a picture of a kitten playing with string, then another of a basket of kittens. Each page he flips to has more cute small kittens doing things. On the last page is a kitten laying on its back on a fuzzy carpet inside a ray of sunshine. He flips the page over and it reads in black letters: FIN. He closes the book and knocks on the door. Eventually it opens.

"Finished already? Well, Kyle son, did you understand the book?"

"Yes, I think I did," he then walks away after Gerald takes the book.

.

Sometime later. Everybody sits in the theater room as the "Team Myentology" film plays.

Black and white images of Eric farting on Butters, Tweek and Craig slowly crossfade into each other as faux patriotic music plays.

Eric's voice talks over them, in the video, "You have to assume power – it's not just given to you."

Then a montage of kids at the Lake Org is shown.

Eric's video voiceover speaks again, "So many Cretans, so few Cartmans."

The music swells and the film ends. After the end credits flies by in mere seconds, a logo like the old British ITC logo with spinning diamonds, appears, with the letters E.T.C. formed, and after each letter a word formed, so it says Educate The Children. The lights come up.

Eric speaks, "Okay, just a quick note before we continue: Child Lisa MacPearson is missing and presumed dead."

Kids just blink in silence.

"Yeah, since she really never spoke, nobody probably remembers here anyway. Now the kid of the week is: Child Butters! Come on _dooowwwnnn!_ "

"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" Butters repeatedly exclaims as he makes his way to the stage.

"Despite your failings yesterday, you've been a loyal Myentologist and therefore you deserve this Dollar General cheap-O picture frame which will be thumb-tacked in the main hall. Any words?"

"Yeah! I got rocket fuel malt liquor in my tiger blood, hot damn!"

"Winning!" says Eric.

"It's krazappy, my disnufises! Suck on it, you droopy-armed flabby0butted knob-gobblers!"

"Total bitchcakes. You can get off the stage now. Any testimonials?"

No hands go up.

"Ah, Child Craig, did I see your hand go up?"

"No."

"come on down, Child Craig! And one demerit."

.

Sometime later. Stan and Kyle are in the kitchen preparing dinner. Thunder loudly rumbles as a storm passes overhead. The swing-door to the kitchen flies open with Eric marching in; behind him are Kenny and Clyde.

"Child Stan, Child Kyle, please come with me; Child Kenny and Child Clyde will take over for tonight."

"Yes, Commissioner," St and Kyle both respond at the same time.

Eric opens the door to an unfamiliar room, where Wendy, a random kid, and Craig all wait next to four chairs. In a corner, Butters stands with a hand-crank jack-in-the-box.

"I think I've been exceedingly generous; giving all this for free and donating so much of my free time to making breakthroughs in Myentology, yet certain individuals at Ranch Seasoning are the Lake Org have taken it all for granted. Somewhere in this room of S.C.U.M. is one or more basket-making traitors who undoubtedly lifted Butters' key card. A simple game of musical chairs should reveal the traitors. Your tainted dirty O/H-ridden Cretans will cause you to fail. However, the traitor will be beck-deep in B.A.L.L.S. for a year. With each night you'll be exhausted after working B.A.L.L.S. all day long."

"Question, Commissioner," says Wendy.

"Yes, Child Wendy?"

"Wouldn't the winners be the guilty ones? A Cretan would want to not be singled out, I would think."

"Good question. You see the _person_ wants to hide, but the tainted Cretans is always in inner conflict, which crosses his mind and leaves his winning boner limp and barely functional. Circle around the chairs, Cretans."

The kids do so.

"Ready … set … crank your jack-in-the-box, Butters."

Butters cranks it at a steady pace. The kids walk around the chairs as _Pop Goes the Weasel_ plays from the box. Kyle looks around as his heart starts pounding. The song reaches "POP" and Kyle twitches nervously, anticipating the clown popping out of the box, but it keeps going. Suddenly the clown pops out and the kids scuffle for the chairs. Kyle remains standing.

"Good. Child Craig, I believe I saw you sit first; please take your chair and set it against the wall near Child butters."

"Will do, Commish."

"All right, everybody stand up. Child Butters, play it again."

Once again they all silently walk in a state of fear as _Pop Goes the Weasel_ plays. After a couple of cycles, the song reaches "the monkey thought it was all for fun" and the clown pops out of the box. And once again the kids struggle to get to the chairs.

"Very good. Child Stan, please take your chair and set it next to Craig."

"That random kid shoved me!" says Wendy.

"This isn't Marcus of Queensbury rules, Child Wendy. Butters," Eric nods at Butters.

Yet again _Pop Goes the Weasel_ plays as desperation is evident in the kids' movements and glances. Thunder rumbles loudly overhead.

"Feels pretty good over here at the winner's wall," Craig comments.

 **POP!** The spring-loaded clown pops out of the top of the box. Wendy trips Kyle and steals the chair.

"Sorry, Kyle, it's you or Stan and I picked Stan. Of course," Wendy says when she stands. Up. She takes her chair over next to Stan.

"Excellent, Child Wendy. All right, one chair left…"

Kyle looks at the chair nervously, his heart pounding and hairs standing on end.

"Play it again, Butters," says Eric.

One final time Butters rotates the crank handle, sounding off _Pop Goes the Weasel_ yet again. Kyle and the random kid eye each other as they circle the lone chair. After a couple of rotations, Kyle start eyeballing the seat, expecting at any second the _POP_ to go off.

The kid looks away from Kyle and at Eric; with four of his left-hand fingers in a pocket, Eric taps the one out – the pointing finger – on the pocket; the random kid's eyes widen and he inhales quickly and then exhales slowly.

As Butters keeps turning the crank handle, for what seems like forever, the room fills with the sounds of Kyle and the other kid's hearts pounding. Sweat beads drop down Kyle's forehead. Kyle looks over at the jack-in-the-box and just as he does, the jester head on the wound-spring slaps open the lid, with the jester's face looking right at him. He instinctively lunges his body at the chair and knocks into the random kid.

" **NOOO!** " the kid screams; at the same time he shoves Kyle away.

Kyle hits the ground as the kids sits.

"No big surprise. Child Kyle, you need to be more standardized. Everybody but him, leave the room and go back to H.E.L.L. now," Eric orders.

The room clears quickly. Kyle remains on the floor. Eric walks around Kyle a few times, as if Kyle were the chair.

"Child Kyle … I've pounded you with B.A.L.L.S., I've given you C.R.A.P., and yet you roll around in the mud like a Hog. I'm sorry to say you're now in the S.H.I.T.; go to H.E.L.L. too while I consider the S.H.I.T. you'll be in tomorrow."

"Yes, Commissioner," Kyle responds. He walks out and down the hall some and stops. "What the hell am I doing?"

"Standing in my way asshole," says Clyde who them walks around him.

Eric closes the door. He turns around fast and slams into Clyde. At that second a loud bolt of lightning strikes, lighting the halls brightly before vanishing along with the power in the building. It blinks on and off in split seconds, and then comes back.

"Goddamnit, Clyde, I-" Eric stops and looks around Clyde and sees pieces of baskets scattered about the floor.

Clyde looks around at the mess, then at Eric, "Look at all the baskets I found, Commissioner," Clyde says trying to sound innocent.

Eric squints his eyes in a pissed off way and says, "Mother fucker!"

Clyde pushes himself up and runs; Eric gives chase.

"When I get ahold of you I'm gonna shove triscuits and traskets so far up your S.C.U.M. hole you'll give birth to fucking baskets! Executive Director!"

Gerald comes running after them, passed Kyle.

"I need to think…" Kyle mutters aloud. He turns around and heads for the sleeping dorm instead. As he passes by the secure door to the forbidden upper levels, he glances briefly at it. He stops walking and turns around to do a double take. Focusing on the key card reader, he sees the indicator light flash from red to green repeatedly.

Kyle looks side-to-side, then walks up to the door and turns the handle; the second the light turns green, the handle turns and the door opens.

"Do I? he hesitates. "Might as well, I'm already in the S.H.I.T. now," he goes in.

Just as he does, Butters spots him enter.


	19. Chapter 19

"Kyle, no!"

Kyle hears Butters shout while he climbs up to the second level. Butters enters through the door, too. Stan peaks around the hall corner at where Butters went.

Butters catches up to Kyle, "Stop! You're not supposed to be in here!"

"God opens doors for you, Butters; all I did was turn the handle," Kyle enters the Analyzing Room on the second story.

"Stop in the name of the law!" Butters orders.

"No!"

"Before you break my heart?"

"Tough."

"Think it o-ooveeerrr!"

"Pass."

Kyle spots the door leading up to the third and final level, reading "C.O.C.", and once again opens another door when its key card reader flashes green. Stan starts to catch up.

"No, Kyle, that's the forbidden zone, where if you're Cretan will die slowly, your stomach will swell, your intestines will writhe and boil, your eyes will burst and some horrible stuff, possible your brains will start coming out through your nose!"

"Then it'll be my own damn fool fault," Kyle then opens the door and climbs up the steps.

Just as Kyle is about at the door, Butters darts between it and holds his arms out.

"Wait! What if I asked you really nicely?" asks Butters.

"Then I'd very politely say 'np'."

"Move it or lose it, Butters," says Stan.

Kyle opens the door. Stan and Kyle stand there dumbfounded with their eyes wide open and jaws hanging agape; before them the floor is a mess, strewn with empty Cheesy Puffs bags and empty metal soda cans. A small sofa on a side of the room has a video game console in front of it and the TV from Eric's house on the other side across from the couch. Small mattresses with plush blankets comic books are directly in front of them against the remaining wall.

"What the _fuck?_ " Stan exclaims.

"Where are the important breakthroughs?" Kyle turns and grabs Butters by the neck collar, "Where is all the important Myentology research?!"

"Please don't hurt me, Kyle!"

"It's all a lie! While we've been cleaning rocks, peeling potatoes, polishing toilets and reading 'The Bridges of Madison County', he's been doing nothing but playing video games!" Kyle says angrily.

"No, that's not entirely true," says Butters, "sometimes he also scratches himself."

" **AGH!** " Kyle growls.

"What about all those fucking T.P.S. graphs we did every day?" asks Stan.

"Shredded and used as insulation around the building."

"Wait – what about _Fartenetics_? We say him cure Tweek. I want answers!" Kyle shakes Butters.

"Eric makes some of us wear electric underpants and gives us shocks with a remote control in his pockets. Even though he assures me I'll never get laid, I still want to-"

" _ **AGH!**_ " Kyle growls even more angrily, "You! You were sick! Your dad said you were! Explain yourself!"

"Well, Eric infected me with a cold strain I had before; I got sick briefly before my body destroyed it, so he had me stick my hands in ice water and take cold showers so I'd be cold and have a runny nose all the time. A day or two before you came over, he had me stop and I got all better. Why, as it says in 'The Bridges of Madison County': Complex things are hard to do."

"Fuck this. Come on, Stan, let's get our things and get the hell out of here," says Kyle as he turns around. Stan follows him out the door and down the stairs.

Butters tags along, "But you're Hurling! You can't Hurl until you do a Blow Screening! E.T.C.'s orders!"

"I don't take orders from Cartman anymore. Educate The Children … you know what E.T.C. stands for?" Kyle asks Butters.

"Ah, his initials?"

"Entirely Too Corpulent!" Kyle slams the final door open and heads to the dorm.

Kenny – passing by – sees this and joins them.

Inside the dorm, Kyle grabs his still-packed backpack and waits for Stan to pack.

"What's up?" Kenny asks them.

"We're getting the hell out of bizarro Dodge," Kyle replies.

"Woo hoo!" Kenny exclaims; he packs his thins up as well.

"We trusted you, Butters!" Kyle yells.

"Eric can be so persuasive – I have a hard time saying 'No', plus he paid some of us off to join and encourage more kids to come."

" _ **AAAGGGHHH!**_ I gave that ground blimp almost two months of my allowance!"

"Ready," says Stan.

"Me, too," Kenny adds.

"Wait, what about Wendy?" asks Stan.

"There's no time. Eric will post guards at the doors and we'll be trapped; it's now or never."

Kyle turns the handle to the door out of the complex and when the light turns green, the door opens. However, when it briefly switches back to red, the alarm sounds just as briefly. Kenny, the last one out, stops and looks at Butters.

"You coming, dude?"

"I can't – Eric will put me in front of the Assembly of Tattlers. Sorry, Kenny."

"See you next week," Kenny closes the door.

.

Clyde runs into a dead end. He turns around to see Eric and Gerald blocking the way.

"Craig made me do it," says Clyde.

"Clyde … they're about to find you with so many baskets shoved up your asshole, your reputation will _never_ recover and-" Eric stops abruptly when he hears the alarm go on and off briefly. "Goddamnit – somebody's Hurling! Executive Director, watch this tempestuous un-mutual N.a.D.S. basket bastard!"

Eric goes into full-blown ludicrous waddle to the main hall where the door is.

Gerald stands there and looks at Clyde.

"So, what's with the baskets anyway?"

"It's symbolism, Uncle Gerald."

"Oh. For what?"

Executive Director! Cretans are escaping!" Buttes yells, running over.

"Eric is on it," Gerald replies.

"Oh. What did Clyde do?"

"He … yeah, you know what, I'm in too much legal jeopardy here. Have fun, boys, I'm going home," Gerald leaves.

"For shame, 'M.o.P' Clyde."

"Screw you. This sucks, I'm going, too," Clyde walks off as well.

"No! You can't Hurl while still taking the P.I.S.S., it's bad for you!"

Butters stands alone.

"Ah, Cheeze Wiz – I'm gonna get analyzed again."

.

Eric runs around the building to where the four "M.o.P.S." trikes are and sees three missing. He hops on the remaining one, puts on his pair of highly-reflective sunglasses and says aloud, "It's _respect my authorita_ time."

He cuts the red and blue lights on and peddles furiously to the road, following the muddy wheels tracks out.

"Freedom!" Kyle shouts excitedly.

"Woo hoo, _yeah!_ " Kenny shouts.

"Now that we're free, we can do anything out heart's desire; the world is our oyster. What are you guys going to do?" asks Kyle.

"Play video games," Stan says.

"Play video games," Kenny says, too.

"Huh. Me too," Kyle comments.

They all suddenly hear a siren.

"Where's that coming from?" asks Stan.

"Kenny looks behind them and sees Eric peddle over the road kill top, still flashing the lights, "Over there!"

"Oh, shit – Sheriff Lardbo is coming!" Stan yells.

"Peddle faster!" Kyle commands.

Eric peddles furiously and quickly closes the gap between him and them when he gains even more speed going downhill.

"Kyle! Kyle, get back to Lake Org this instance!"

"No!"

"Kyle, you can't Hurl without doing a Blow Screening!"

"Blow this!" Kyle shouts back.

"Kyle, I'll be generous and only pound you with B.A.L.L.S. for one week," Eric says, now close enough not to have to yell.

"Suck my balls, ball sucker!" Kyle says back.

"Kyle, if you don't turn around now, all of you will be put before the Assembly of Tattlers where you'll be found un-mutual. Just come back and do the Blow Screening."

"No! We trusted you. _I_ trusted you. We thought _Fartenetics_ was real, but once again you were just farting in our faces for your own perverse pleasure! You're the fucking scorpion that stings the fox mid-stream!"

"Kyle, I'm going to have to give you a demerit for that."

"This was just another one of your money-making schemes, wasn't it?!"

"Ay! Nobody forced you to sign your Cretan over to me for a bazillion years. You all willingly gave your blood, sweat and tears and what little money you get, to Myentology. It's just like Social Security, only without liquidated assets, seized property and Federal prison for failure to pay."

"Coercion and duress!" Kyle shouts.

"Save it for the Blow Screening, Cretan."

"While we labored for you, you sat around coming up with bullshit to torture us with and play video games while stuffing your big fat insatiable craw!"

"Get your ass back over to the compound and do the Blow Screening _now!_ "

"Fuck. You."

"What we've got here is … failure to communicate," says Eric.

"Oh, yeah? Well, I hope this communication is clear!" Kyle sticks a hand in the air and flips Eric off for a prolonged time.

We hear dramatic brass music growls as the view steadily closes in on the glasses on Eric's face, which show the reflection of Kyle's middle finger in each lens.

Eric growls in furious anger and catches up to Kyle, pulling alongside the trike Kyle is on. He side-swipes the trike, causing Kyle to have to regain control and heading.

"Respect my authorita!" he slams into Kyle again, causing Kyle to veer of and hit Kenny, who in turn loses control and spins out and rolls off into the shoulder.

"Oh my God – you killed Ke … oh, never mind; he lived. That was unexpected," Stan comments.

"Eat a dick!" Kyle exclaims.

Stan stops and goes to check on Kenny.

Kyle now also takes turns trying to run Eric off the road.

"Kyle, just take my B.S. and this can all be over with!"

"I'm telling your mom on you!" Kyle shouts.

"Snitch bitch!" Eric yells back.

"Snickers bitch!" Kyle shoots back.

"I am not fat! I'm going to beat you with every last one of my big bones!" Eric rams Kyle, causing Kyle to lose control.

The trikes hit the muddy shoulder and skid out of control; they both flip, throwing Kyle and Eric off onto the rain-soaked side of the road.

Eric pushes himself up in the muddy water, "You know, Child Kyle, I'm beginning to think you're not Myentology material; you're more Hog than your Hog mother."

Muddy waters run down Kyle's puffy red hair, having landed in a puddle after his hat fell off, "You're more fucking delusional than those millennials who think they'll be millionaires by the time they're thirty by doing nothing more than sitting on their asses and watching cat videos online while Tweeting!"

"Hey – I do both those things!"

"To quote Chekov from the original sixth _Star Trek_ film: Eef shoo feets, vhere eet!" Kyle says back.

" _UPH!_ " Eric puts up his fists, "What you need is some _Fartenetics_."

Kyle walks in circles, holding his fists up, too, "Well, you are full of hot air."

"Bent over and smell my miracle."

Kyle replies, "Shut up and fight already."

"You know, Kyle, I've come a long way since that slap-fight we had. These fists have been training."

"Yeah, fisting," Kyle retorts.

"Enough! Time to find out once and for all who is the better kid," says Eric.

Eric and Kyle slowly circle each other. Their fists tighten, teeth clench and show, and they each gaze intensely at each other. Arm muscles tense up for punches and just before fists fly, headlights crest over the hill in the road and blind them; they turn their heads and cover their eyes.

Gerald slows down and picks up Stan and Kenny, then drives up to Kyle and Eric and comes to a stop.

"Kyle, son, ready to go home?"

"Yes," Kyle lowers his fists and walks over and lets himself into the passenger seat.

"Oh, by the way Eric, if you touch a hair on my son's head, I'll sue you into oblivion."

"Wow, thanks dad."

"No problem, son. I was just following orders under Myentology; I didn't mean anything I said. Though those eyebrows are a little bushy. And Eric, looks like all your followers were leaving while I was pulling away. Enjoy the long walk home," Gerald starts pulling away.

"Wait, hold on dad," Kyle says; Gerald stops again and Kyle looks at Eric, "Cartman … I forgive you. And that's not easy because you make it so fucking hard."

"Oh, Kyle, I'm touched by your words, son; do you want me to give him a lift, too?"

"Fuck no! Screw you, asshole! Walk! There are _four lights and_ you never had me! Deep down inside I always knew this was another one of your convoluted, self-serving, bastardly loads of SHI-"

CUT OT: The bear outside the Blainetology complex. It strains intensely as it tries to squeeze out a massive load of shit. It shakes and roars.

" _ **RRRWAAAAAHHHR!**_ "

It looks up into the sky, blood vessels burst in its ears and it collapses forward onto its face, dead. Behind it a big pile of bloody shit with Breanna sitting in it speechless.

.

 **-THE END-**


End file.
